Different Morality
by Jessa L'Rynn
Summary: An historically accurate Reinette comes along to see the stars. Life on the TARDIS immediately becomes more insane than usual. The obligatory GITF AU! With special thanks to Olfactory Ventriloquism, who gave me this idea and knows I'm nuts. On Hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

_Guess what? I still have not received my shares of Doctor Who. I'd complain to the management, but it turns out to be in flux..._

* * *

**_Different Morality_**

**Chapter 1**

The Doctor stared at the console as the TARDIS curled into the Vortex, singing welcome and vague threats at him simultaneously. Actually, it was mostly threats.

_'...and if you ever so much as _**step**_ out of my range again, I will come find you and when I do, I will make you wish to Rassilon's ghost that you'd never left my sight. Never left Gallifrey with me at all, in fact...'_

It was amazing, really, how similar her voice sounded to Jackie Tyler's when she was in a mood like this.

He tuned her out, because he honestly could hardly believe he'd done it. He'd jeopardized the entire history of Earth jumping through that mirror like that. Yes, he had to save the time line that Reinette was a part of and yes, he had to save her life, but what if he had been trapped there? He'd have had to move on the very next day, no matter how much Reinette wanted him to stay, because otherwise, France would have been invaded within forty-eight hours. He would have had to keep moving until he either stole a passing space ship or managed to hitchhike a lift from one of his earlier selves. That would have been beyond embarrassing, on top of everything.

And who's to say he could have gotten back in time to Rose? He could have aimed for the right time and the right space ship and missed it by wide enough that he'd've landed in the middle of a star-bound tribe of little, inbred Rose/Mickey descendants who had never seen a planet before, who all behaved exactly like Leela, and whose religion had only one tenet - to murder the Doctor when he showed up.

That would have been _so_ not fun.

Quite aside from the pain of losing Rose to Mickey the Idiot.

Reinette stood at the console next to him, fascinated. Her heavy, expensive perfume was fragrant in the air. He thought he might suggest a bath but wasn't sure how to go about it without offending the new companion. She was from a time period when bathing was something still done infrequently and practically only as a penance. It wasn't that her hygiene was particularly questionable. She was a trained courtesan and one of her rank would always keep particularly clean for the time period. But in the sterile air of the TARDIS, heavy French perfume smelled extremely strong and quite a bit out of place.

"What will my duties be whilst I am here?" asked Reinette, softly, placing a hand on his arm.

He grinned at her, trying to show how excited he was about everything. "You're a guest, Reinette, a traveling companion, a fellow trouble-maker and trend-setter! All you have to do is enjoy yourself. Oh, and I suppose, well, other duties as assigned, right, 'cuz stuff always happens. Right. Rule One - no wandering off. You can here, of course, but not outside, not unless I say so. But I'm sure, as long as you obey Rule One better than, say, our resident pink-and-yellow trouble magnet, I expect you'll be perfectly safe." His grin widened. "Or not. But I try!"

She smiled fondly and cupped his bicep with a graceful hand. Not as dainty as Rose's, but they were slender and lovely. Strange, she didn't seem to want to hold his hand - arm, elbow, and certainly his lips, but not his hand... hum. Have to think about that.

"I meant my duties to the..." She paused as if searching for a word, then beamed as if she'd found it. "...household, my Lord."

He thought about that. "Hum. S'pose we are a sort of... well... I guess a household. Albeit a very dysfunctional one." He sighed. "I don't do domestic, Reinette, don't worry about it."

She sighed, too, now. "I shall go ask Rose," she said quietly.

"Yeah," he agreed, wondering what he was supposed to do about that. "She should be in the kitchen by now. Three doors down, left hand corridor, it's the big room at the end." Hopefully Mickey was there to keep Rose from acting ridiculous.

* * *

Rose was sitting at the table, her head bowed over a cup of tea and her eyes closed. She wasn't sleeping though, far from it, and all she was really feeling was a deep seated sort of numb. Followed by more numb, with a bit of numb on the side.

When they'd first arrived back on the TARDIS, Mickey had brought her here, made her a cup of tea while doing something he referred to as an "I told you so" dance, and then left. Apparently, the look she'd shot him at the end of the "I told you so" dance was murderous, in the same way that the single eyestalk stare of a Dalek was murderous. Fatal, lethal, homicidal, deadly, and generally terminal.

She should have known. He'd promised, only last week, that he would never leave her behind. She honestly should have seen this coming.

Still, beyond that promise, she had no hold over him, no commitments had been requested nor offered. He was not her husband, her lover, or even her on-again, off-again boyfriend, as Mickey seemed to think he was. Actually, as Mickey seemed to think they both were, tell the truth.

Rose resisted the urge to bang her head on the table only through an expenditure of effort she would not have believed herself capable of this morning. Of course, she was Rose Tyler. She was bloody unbreakable, and when she set her will to something, it happened eventually.

She remembered the conversation with the TARDIS over whether or not she was going to get into the console that time when he had sent her home.

The idiot.

The smell of the perfume, that all-encompassing, nostril-flaring, held-still-too-long-in-a-department-store _reek _hit her delicate nose and brought her head up slowly, warily. Reinette was sitting across from her, an inquiring expression on her flower-like face.

Rose smiled, a wholly faked but (she hoped) welcoming smile. "Hi," she said, politely.

"I was afraid you were sleeping and didn't wish to disturb your rest," Reinette said.

Even her voice was pretty, dammit.

"Did you need anything?" Rose offered because, for all that she had been dragged up on the Council Estates by Jackie Tyler, she would be damned to seven hells before the (admittedly beautiful and accomplished) painted doxy in front of her would get to call her rude. "I can help you find a room or show you to the wardrobe so you can change." (Or the bath so you can wash off the bucket of Chanel #5 you swam in this morning, she didn't add.)

"A room would be lovely, yes, thank you."

Rose got up from her chair so Reinette wouldn't see any look of relief or vague triumph that managed to get past her mask and led the older woman out into a corridor. So at least she wasn't planning to set up camp in the Doctor's room. (Not that it would do her much good, since the silly sod only slept when it was either that or fall down. She didn't blame him, of course. If she had nightmares like that every time she closed her eyes, she'd never sleep again.)

They opened several doors along the corridor where Rose's own room was located, but only found a large assortment of variations on the whole "broom cupboard" theme. Rose tried the next corridor, but it was suddenly full of music rooms, junk closets, and the occasional free-standing shower. She shook her head and tapped the wall firmly the first time they'd found that last, but by the third time, she was smiling. Reinette, who had never even seen such a thing before, had no idea what was going on.

"The TARDIS has a bit of a mind of her own," Rose said. "Sorry." She led Reinette into a third corridor, the one where Mickey had eventually found and claimed a space, and the door just past Mickey's opened up on a beautiful but simple suite. There was, Rose noticed, an enormous bathroom off to the side. It was impossible not to notice this, actually, because the door was hanging wide open and clean, soapy water beckoned invitingly.

"She must like you," Rose said gently. "She's set you up a bubble bath and everything."

"It's lovely," Reinette said, taking everything in with wide, incredulous eyes. "Thank you so much. I hardly knew what to expect from a space ship, but this is so very kind."

"I'll try and show you how things work," Rose said, managing, almost against her will, to feel sorry for the woman.

"A moment of your time, first," she said. "I needed to inquire about my duties while I am here."

Oh God, thought Rose. Wrong freakin' century. "You don't have to do anything, honest. Well, except pick up after yourself." She smirked as a bit of fellow feeling occurred to her. Here was another woman. Ok, so the cow wanted to get her hooks into the Doctor, but they could still share jokes, as she had with Sarah Jane. Hopefully. "Oh, and if you can manage a completely vacuous expression while the Doctor's rambling a mile a minute, that would be good. I've been working on mine, but I always seem to mix up 'vacuous' with 'vacant' and he thinks I'm not listening."

The look Reinette gave her in response to this was splendidly bewildered.

"Not bad," Rose said. "He loves to answer questions, and if you don't know what to ask, just looking clueless usually works. Don't just say 'what', though, or he'll look at you like you've... erm... spilled your soup or something."

Reinette's expression cleared then and she smiled. "He prefers to be the wise guide."

Rose snorted. "Wise guy, you mean, but it'll do. But he don't ask anything of us while we're here."

"But you and I both know I must be expected to have some responsibilities?"

Rose eyed her cautiously. "You'd have to ask the Doctor."

Reinette's smile, if Rose was any judge, seemed to be both kind and condescending. A wiser older woman to a young, inexperienced one, a bit too catty for Rose to trust, but utterly honest in all her other body language. "Your manners are admirable, and your discretion does suit a Lady of quality, but Rose, you do not have to be cautious with me. I understand these things. For all that you appear to have been other than a gentle woman in your youth, you have accepted your role with enviable grace."

"Sorry," said Rose, "but I've no idea what you're on about. I'm not in it, at all."

"You will not know this, of course, as you are young, and the men are never privy to such secrets we keep amongst ourselves, but it is not uncommon for us to work these things out between us and leave them none the wiser. When will I be required to attend him... personally?"

Rose really, really didn't want to even think about that. Mostly, it was because she expected you'd be able to see the steam roll out of her ears if she did. "You'd have to ask him," she mumbled, again.

"Now, dear Rose, let us not be coy. It is not uncommon for such needs to arise. You are a well brought up lady, I can see that, though you're not of gentle birth. It means little. Men are known to have needs that a gentle woman could not be expected to tolerate."

"What?" Rose breathed, softly, incredulously.

Reinette appeared to be getting a bit annoyed with her now, but she still plodded on, a patient teacher with a very slow, dull pupil. "I would prefer to make myself available to him when it is more convenient for you. It would put less strain on our relationship and allow you and he to maintain yours with greater equanimity. Please do not think poorly of yourself, dear girl. As a consort of a great man, you will have to come to understand that these things are caused because they are men, and not by any failure on our part as women."

Rose thumbed through that speech idly, her brain gibbering in the corner of her skull, trying to direct her attention to one word. "Sorry?" was all she managed to get out.

"My dear, you will always be his wife. I am merely a token of his great station, something expected of him."

Rose burst out laughing. "His... what?"

Reinette sniffed, mortally offended. "What is the jest, then?"

Right. So where'd she get that idea? Rose thought about it until Reinette's expression grew thoroughly annoyed and, since she couldn't piece it together in her head, she said, "How'd you find out I was his... consort, then?"

"I saw inside his mind. It's so vast, in there, within his thoughts, but so many turn to you, the lonely angel's shining goddess. I didn't recognize you at first when we met because your image in his mind is... different. But when you spoke about the monsters, and you spoke so kindly, I realized who you were."

Oh, so that was why Reinette went on and on about how 'they' loved him and 'they' knew he was worth the monsters. She'd got some weird, half-arsed idea from somewhere inside the Doctor's skull and thought she was seeing a reality.

"Look, Reinette, I don't want to hurt your feelings, or anything, but whatever you saw, it wasn't real. Maybe some random fantasy he had for a minute before he changed or something, but not really me, ok? We're not married, he doesn't love me, and if he did want me, he wouldn't have to have a mistress for whatever it is you think."

As Reinette continued to gape at her, the other woman's expression quite dubious of Rose's sanity, she decided she had no choice but to clear it up once and for all. "Seriously. He's my best friend, honest, and I'd do anything for him, already have, actually, but he's not my lover or nothing. If he was, he could have me bent over the console or swinging from the chandelier in the library, I couldn't care less. So trust me when I tell you that isn't what any of us are here for, s'far as I know. And have a bath."

And she turned and left the room, breathing heavily, hands clenched into fists. The only thing bottling the tears inside her was the titanic, thunderous rage that clenched her throat tight shut. She stormed up the corridor to her bedroom and, to her supreme gratitude, found it waiting for her just past the juncture.

At least the TARDIS still loved her.


	2. Chapter 2

_As I am a professional writer and have work to do to get paid, I have decided to deal with these thudding plot bunnies in the traditional manner - I will inflict them on others. Please see my Profile for the Challenges of the Month. New challenges for May have been added! Due to lack of response, at least one of April's will remain up. The new set will run through the end of May. Please let me know when you respond to a Challenge so I can read and review.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 2:**

Rose threw herself down on her bed and discovered that she didn't even have the energy to cry. Everything that had happened today, from the stupid clockwork drones catching her and Mickey to the stupid sitting and waiting for five and a half hours for the Doctor to saunter back in. Sneaking into Versailles, practically kidnapping Madame du Pompadour, and then having to wait another two hours while she said goodbye to that cheeky king...

She dropped into an exhausted sleep almost the moment her head hit the pillow. The last thought in her head was "consort..."

* * *

"Consort," said Jack.

"Sorry?" she asked him. They were back on Philodena. God, she hated this place. The Doctor would be gone on one of his never-ending parts quests for most of the next two days and, while she'd been expecting her and Jack to have a good time while waiting, Jack had been walking on eggshells the whole time, hardly daring to even smile. It made her nervous so, before they left the TARDIS for the second day, she made him explain.

"It's this consort thing," he said, waving a piece of toast with strawberry jam as he talked. "I have to be very, very careful here."

"Why?"

"Because I'm gorgeous, Rosie, and every body wants me."

She grinned. She'd missed that cheeky look and charming smile all day yesterday, and had been starting to worry she'd never see it again. Jack hadn't been this grim since he found out the gas-mask zombies were his fault. "You are so full of it," she told him.

"Thanks, I try. And everyone else would like to be full of me!"

Her eyes widened in shock. "Jack Harkness!" she exclaimed and smacked his arm. "That was terrible!"

"But you love me."

"Not if you're gonna talk like that, I don't."

He laughed, then sighed ruefully and ran a hand up through his hair, getting jam caught in his forelock, though he didn't know.

She smirked at him and kept it to herself.

"These people have a weird breeding system - it's primitive and chemical in nature. They pick a mate and, once they've done the deed, they're bound for life."

"Yeah, so was Shireen's mum, but it didn't help her when Shireen's dad got a new secretary."

Jack snorted. "No, see, we humans aren't properly monogamous. We're primates, so that's the way it works with us."

"Ok," she agreed. "Stupid apes all around, then. But they're not?"

"Nah. Think they descended from turtle doves or something. They enforce the life-mate thing with biochemicals that let everyone know the partner is taken."

"How's that a problem for you?"

"For one, I can't smell it. Human pheromones I can detect, like the ones the Doctor puts in your laundry that says he'll murder anyone who touches you but..."

She smacked him again. "He does not!!" she exclaimed, laughing with delight.

"You're right, he doesn't, but I probably shouldn't suggest it, should I?"

She sighed. "It's not like that, Jack."

"If you say so." He shrugged and shot her a salacious grin and she blushed and giggled at the same time.

"What's the other problem?"

"There's a second reinforcement. Another biochemical given off during the act itself that makes it impossible for either member of a mated pair to get it on with anyone else. One of the guys back at the Academy slept with one of these people."

"Oh, my God!!"

"He was in intensive chemical therapy for six years before he could raise so much as half-mast."

She started laughing, and couldn't stop.

"No, seriously. And then, the girl's family showed up and dragged him back. Far as I know, he still lives here. Should go look him up." He shrugged indifferently and smirked naughtily at her. "So you can see why I don't want anyone to even think I'm vaguely interested. Don't want to chance it, and my self-control isn't always that great."

She snorted. "Not always? How 'bout not ever?"

He laughed now and took her hand - not the one the Doctor always held, though. She smiled.

"Maybe that's what Time Lords do, too," he said. "Mark their mates or something."

She rolled her eyes at him. "We're not like that, Jack," she repeated, as ever. "And we've never..."

"Danced?" he asked, his green eyes twinkling all sorts of merry, wicked suggestion.

She reached over with her napkin, leaning close to him, and cleaning the jam out of his hair, carefully. He was inches from her breasts and he gazed up at her, hot-eyed and longing. She smiled back at him, coy and cheerful and not too concerned. His self-control around her was perfect. She trailed the napkin down his face and a soft, apparently involuntary sound escaped him. She blinked down at him in surprise.

The kitchen door flung open and the Doctor stood there, dark and towering, with his hands folded over his chest and his blue eyes boring holes into both of them.

"That's got it, Jack," Rose said, and sat down nonchalantly. She looked up at the Doctor where he was still drilling Jack with his gaze. "Good morning," she said. "You want some tea?"

He nodded but still didn't turn away from pinning Jack to his seat, so she walked carefully between them, put her hand up on his face, and smiled into his stormy eyes. "You look rested this morning," she said softly. "I'm glad. I was worried."

His face broke into that all encompassing grin and he touched her chin with a careful finger. "Could ya bring the tea to the console room? Gotta check what else I need before I go back out."

"Sure," she agreed.

He left, then, and Jack turned to her, his expression fading quickly from terrified to quite droll. "I think I may have a point," he said.

She shook her head and ignored him.

* * *

Rose sat up in bed, gasping and blinking away the dream. It wasn't actually a dream, but a memory.

She sat there for a few moments, trying to figure out why she would be remembering that in particular. Then, she tried to remember why she was napping in her clothes.

Then, she tried to remember what was so important that she needed to talk to the Doctor as soon as she could.

She blinked and rubbed her eyes while those three questions bounded around in her head like one of those screensaver things on Mickey's computer back home.

She stood, slowly.

Everything collided in the middle of her skull at once. She saw red, and stormed off to find her so-called best friend, infuriating Time-spawned alien weasel that he was.

* * *

The Doctor jumped up from the floor the instant Reinette's perfume touched his nostrils. He noticed, to his dismay, that she hadn't changed her dress, either, and he supposed that was understandable, because she was used to having girls to dress her and do her hair and jewelry and makeup.

He hadn't thought about that. Someone was probably going to have to help her, and he couldn't very well ask Rose to do it. Couldn't do it himself, that was... dangerous. And Mickey the Idiot was out of the question.

He sighed as she approached. Maybe he could rescue some poor girl from a life of drudgery and show her all of time and space in exchange for being Reinette's maid.

Right.

A Manchester accent in his head snorted, "Domestic," at him, and he agreed. It had been ages since he had a princess on board and she was a very self-sufficient princess, not at all like Reinette. Of course, he'd had a bloody great entourage at the time, as well. Maybe Tegan had helped Nyssa with her clothes. How would he know? Maybe Adric had helped her with her clothes. That would certainly explain why the boy had seemed perpetually befuddled.

Maybe he was trying to recreate parts of Five's life. Damn, but that would explain a lot. A girl he loved but would never touch, a boy who hated him and wanted him dead while holding him in enormous awe. And a princess. And the trainers. If he caught himself looking too long at a salad bar, he was going to off himself and have another go at getting ginger.

The Doctor was busy considering this, so he was utterly unprepared for it when Reinette's small hand came up and collided sharply with the side of his face.

He staggered back. She wasn't anywhere near as strong as Jackie Tyler, nor as fierce. It was almost as if she'd done it to get his attention. But he was so surprised. Calm, delicate, exotic Reinette had just slapped him.

_Add "slap by Madame du Pompadour" to the list of unwelcome gifts from royalty,_ he noted to himself.

"What was that for?" he asked, trying for concerned and only managing pouty.

"You have me here under false pretenses, my Lord," she said calmly but sternly.

"I... what?" he said. Ok, so where was the enormous gob, now? Why wasn't his ability to talk anything to death coming out? He _needed_ it. NOW. "What?" he said again.

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him, knowingly.

"What?" he asked, weakly, and wished the TARDIS would kindly oblige him in arranging for the floor to swallow him, now. No, seriously. Now.

She was too busy laughing at him to even hear.

Rose still loved him, though, so the entire female population of his Universe wasn't after him.

Yet.

Then, Reinette turned from him and stormed across the room. "Doctor, you know that I love you. I wanted to travel with you and see the stars. But I assumed that you desired me as well."

He desired fun, and parties, and a horse, and Universal peace and maybe a kiss or two. Desired a person... not really. Well... no. Time Lords didn't do that sort of thing.

_All fantasies..._

No.

_Soft and star-spun, golden..._

No.

"Um... that's not really... I mean, I'm a Time Lord."

"Yes, and I understood that. I know you are lonely, my precious angel, but I assumed you desired company and comfort of the kind I can provide. I assumed your relationship with Rose had become stale or cold. I did not know, could not have imagined that your consort..."

His brain had exploded at the word "consort" and he really only heard snippets of what she said next.

"...Didn't even know..."

_Rose wasn't his consort._

"And she's such a lovely girl..."

_No, honestly. Just his best friend._

"...Understands your life in ways I never could..."

_A hand to hold against the shadows. All the shadows._

"...Not exactly proper, of course..."

_The one he wanted to stand back to back with at the end of the world. Any world._

"...said you didn't love her..."

_Yes, I do._

"...and then, oh, such language..."

_The one he kissed after the world didn't end once._

"...bent backward over the console, even I could never imagine. The cheek!..."

_He'd died of her and died for her and would do it again every day if he had to._

"...so I can't imagine..."

_But he'd do that for anyone, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he?_

"...how you'll ever love me..."

_Maybe not, but she was _**Rose**_._

"...I've nothing to offer if not my body..."

_She'd died for him a long time before she'd returned to his side only so he wouldn't die alone._

"...can I win your heart? Is that possible..."

_Rose isn't my consort. I should say something._

"...if you don't desire her..."

_Desire, perhaps. Act on it? Time Lord._

"...can possibly offer you..."

"Stop," he said, holding up a hand to still her talk and the whirling chaos in his head. Where had she gotten this idea?? "Reinette, I brought you because you're brave and clever and beautiful and you deserve the stars. I did enjoy kissing you and dancing with you, please don't think I didn't. But I... the comforts of the flesh are usually pretty much lost on me."

"That much is obvious," Reinette agreed dryly. "The console!" she exclaimed.

He looked at it, but it wasn't doing anything, so he looked back at her. "You don't have to take care of me in that manner. That's not... I'm fine, I'm always fine."

"But I wanted to. You're beautiful and wonderful and I..." Reinette sighed. "I knew I'd have to share you with her, but I didn't realize..." Her eyes, when she met his, were glittering fiercely in the aqua console light, and she was obviously close to crying.

"Oh, please, don't," he said softly. He reached for her, but she stepped back.

"I think, my Lord, that you must sort your heart and your love out before you attempt to offer comfort to me." And she turned on her dainty, elegant heel to beat a swift retreat. However, the shoe caught in the grating and she had to quickly pry it loose before she could stomp off into the corridor, slamming the door behind her.

He sighed and shook his head. His mouth tasted as bitter as ashes. What had Rose said to her that made her think this? Why would Rose say something like that?

It worried him because he couldn't equate Reinette's conclusion with the giving, honest, caring Rose he knew so well. She would never lie, no matter how angry she was, and certainly not about something like that. Sure, she was going to leave him any day now, he'd seen to that, but she wouldn't tear him apart first.

Right up until she closed the door behind her and all his joy died, she would be his best friend.

So Reinette must have misunderstood. That was the only possible explanation. He would have to go talk to Reinette, to clear the misunderstanding up, and then go talk to Rose and warn her.

Or, he could just talk to her now. It would be easy, maybe, since she was standing, just inside the console room door, looking at him through blazing eyes like the towering Time Goddess she hid inside her. He took a step toward her. She glowered at him, balefully.

_Oh, hell._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

"Hello, Rose," said the Doctor, carefully.

"Hi, Doctor," she replied, with that feigned cheer that meant someone was going to die.

He walked slowly towards her, never taking his eyes from hers. Brown to brown to calm her frown, he thought, with as much humor as he could muster.

Unfortunately, keeping his eyes on hers and getting that close meant he didn't watch the rest of her. She struck like a cobra, and her slap WAS like Jackie Tyler's, strong and potent and not something ever, ever to be repeated if at all avoidable.

He tried to say something while clutching at his cheek, but she lit into him before he had a chance. "You want to tell me why that foreign hussy thinks we're married?" she demanded fiercely.

The Manchester accent was singing "domestic" at him, this time. He rather thought there were other voices laughing at him, too, but that might just be the TARDIS.

"Me?" he demanded in equally hot tones. "What did you say to her, because I'm sure she got the idea from you."

"Right, 'cause this is all my fault, is it?" She was yelling full voice, now, and storming around the console, having closed the door behind her. "Was it my idea to bring a French tart on board? No. Was it my idea for you to take up snogging as a hobby in this regeneration? No. Was it my idea to let her see inside your head? Hell, no!"

"I didn't let her!" he shouted back, and it felt good. He was frustrated and worried and things were getting very quickly out of his control, and shouting was always something he was good at. "Do you think I would do that to anyone on purpose? What the hell do you think I am?"

"Right at the moment, I think you're an absolute bastard. You brought that poor girl along and she's out of her time and out of her place, and there's no one to wait on her hand and foot and let me just tell you, if the corset she's got on is anything compared to the one I wore that one time, she's not coming out of it without power tools, so I hope your sonic screwdriver's got a setting for French knickers!!"

"Me?? I'm not helping her out of it. You were a shop girl, you do it!"

"Fuck you. I'm a goddess on six planets, now, thanks to you, and public enemy number one on twenty more - including my own!!"

"You just had to make that bet!" His voice cracked on the last word and went all squeaky but he didn't care. He and Rose were fighting and, Rassilon help him, for some reason it felt _good_.

"You just had to take it!" she snapped back. "Mister Last of the Time Lords, all high and mighty, and you couldn't resist ten quid from a - what was it - oh yeah, feral CHILD!!"

"I called you a feral child to protect you!!" He was still shouting, couldn't help it, didn't want to help it. Adrenaline was racing through his veins and she was flushed and getting hoarse and so splendidly animated as she railed at him.

"From what? Being landed in 1867 instead of 1967?!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know?"

"You call yourself the designated driver!" she cried. "Check the console, check that freaking watch you wear that doesn't tell time. Whatever. Use your bloody spidey-senses for all I care!"

"That's just it!" he bellowed, indignantly. "You didn't used to care!"

"I didn't used to end up as a freaking dinner lady while you chatted up an old flame. Or chained down and about to have my liver removed while you invented banana daiquiris two centuries too soon. You used to care!!"

"I still do!"

"Don't you _dare_ try to tell me that. You wouldn't even let Mickey come along before when I wanted him to and now he's suddenly the companion to impress, just because Sarah Jane likes his name."

"I thought you liked Sarah Jane!"

"I do, God help me. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, apparently, but it don't work the other way 'round, does it? Or it didn't used to. Now you want to be pals with all the girls in the Universe, and tote Mickey around to see the sights. Are you gay in this incarnation, Doctor? Is that it?"

"No!" he shouted. "At least I don't think so," he added, quieter.

She looked like she wanted to shout something else at him, but then, what he said apparently registered and she stopped and looked at him with the weirdest, most wonderful expression on her face.

He considered her, his head tilted to one side. He was now leaning against one of the support struts and she was a foot in front of him, close enough to touch, having gotten closer to him while they argued. He'd moved around her, trying to stay where he could watch her face turn red and watch her eyes blaze - she was absolutely beautiful when she was angry - but trying to stay out of slapping range as well.

She blinked, he blinked.

They both started laughing.

"C'mere," he managed, and held his arms out for her.

She flung herself into them and they held each other tightly, paroxysms of mirth wracking both their bodies as they clutched at each other. This was right, this was perfect. This was where they were supposed to be. Best friends and old friends, wrapped up in each other's embrace, moving closer with every bump in the road.

Rose lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him, her face delighted and shining, tears of humor streaking her mascara down her cheeks. Reinette was Madame du Pompadour, beautiful, accomplished, the uncrowned Queen of France. She had absolutely nothing on Rose Tyler.

His eyes fell of their own accord to her lips. She was worrying at the bottom one while she tried to control the giggles that still shook her in his arms. He lowered his head, or she raised hers, who knew, but suddenly they were only millimeters apart, breathing the same breath, their hearts thundering in tandem as his hands slid up to twine through her peroxide curls. She closed her eyes, giving her blessing, and he moved to close the distance between them.

There was a sudden, loud, dull thud from somewhere down the corridors. They broke apart, looking at each other with huge eyes. Then he reached, automatically, and their fingers brushed, their hands clasped. "Run?" he suggested.

She nodded, once, firmly, her eyes glittering joy and mischief. "Run," she agreed.

* * *

Mickey Smith went to his door slowly at the sound of the soft knock. He was tired, had been since before they left for Versailles, and all he really wanted was a sleep. But he kept expecting Rose to turn up and cry it out on his shoulder. He would have to let her, but really it was getting old, because even if she demanded a sympathy shag, she'd just be back to clutching the Doctor's hand whenever it was free tomorrow.

Still, he loved her and wouldn't ever be able to deny her anything, not even comforts that would probably hurt him later. She hadn't belonged to him in more than three years by his time line and he'd not noticed he lost her because she'd been gone even before she went for a twelve hour ride in a space ship and came back a year late. Ever since that alien had taken her hand, really.

He looked down at his pajama trousers and bare chest and shrugged. If it was Rose, she wouldn't care. He could dance naked in front of her and she wouldn't notice if the Doctor was in the same building... or actually on the same planet. Or, hell, in the same sodding Universe, so he was pretty much doomed.

If, by some odd chance it was the Doctor, he could find out if Time Lords had glass jaws (probably not, but worth a go) in exchange for the fact that the Doctor had hurt Rose pretty badly this time. They might seriously need to have a man to man talk about this, and it seemed pretty weird that he'd have to be the mature and sensible one this time.

Never would have happened if he hadn't changed his face. The Doctor in the leather jacket would have just glowered until all the robots shut themselves down in an attempt at self preservation.

The only person he was absolutely sure was not at the door was the Doctor's fancy new bit of skirt. She was probably way too busy getting an answer to Jackie's Christmas question - anything else he's got two of? - to even notice that Rose was hurt or Mickey was here.

So it was absolutely no surprise when he fell back from the open door in shock to find the uncrowned Queen of France looking startled and amused at him through wide, wondering eyes. He also noticed, in the very periphery of his attention, that there was an appalling din ringing through the corridors, but Reinette's eyes had wandered to his bare torso now, and he bolted for a t-shirt.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"It's all right," he replied. "D'you want to come in? It's quiet."

She smiled and nodded and closed the door behind her. "They seem to be discussing things at last, anyway."

"Never heard them row like that. Usually it's all 'Yes, Doctor,' and 'whatever you want, Rose'." He pulled the shirt on and straightened it and looked around at his room. He hadn't been here long enough to destroy it, so he probably didn't need to be too embarrassed at what she was seeing. "Well, except for dinner at Jackie's. He's got to be murdered before he'll agree to that."

He flung himself down in the arm chair the TARDIS had provided for him in a little sitting area, along with a large, mostly empty book case and a desk for his lap top and stuff. He gestured her to the other chair, but she remained standing so, after a nervous moment, he stood too.

"And Jackie is?" Reinette questioned.

"Oh, Jackie? She's his mother-in-law, Rose's mum."

Reinette nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed to slits. "I see."

"Sorry," Mickey said, feeling chastened at her obvious annoyance.

"It isn't you," she replied in that quiet, kind voice. "I knew about his relationship with her, and I made certain assumptions, and it is very embarrassing to be told all your assumptions are wrong. And it seems to me that you've reason to make those assumptions, too."

"What, about them?" Mickey sighed. "Yeah, well, I couldn't help it, could I? I'm the one who had his finger on the button when the Doctor couldn't decide whether to save the world or not because she might die. I'm the one who got ordered to kill them all and then I find out later that no matter what, he would have walked away. I'm the one who helped her get back to him, even though she knew she would die, and I'm the one who had to watch her leave with him again even after he'd changed so completely and never warned her. So yeah, I've made assumptions. What am I wrong about?"

"Rose says that they're not married."

Mickey snorted. "Maybe not in name. Maybe they're not shagging when no one's looking, but you couldn't tell otherwise, I swear you couldn't."

Reinette nodded glumly.

"Do you want to sit down?" Mickey offered.

She smiled, beautiful, dignified, delicate. Mickey could quite easily see what the Doctor saw in her. Hell, even Rose had seen it. "I'm afraid this dress won't allow that," she said. "These low chairs you have in here, my corset would get in the way."

"I'm sorry." He didn't think, he knew he couldn't possibly have thought, because if he had, he would never have even tried to think the words that came out of his mouth. "You need some help with it?"

His brain reconnected as her laughter twinkled over him. "Sorry, that was... and it's not like I'm an expert on fancy underwear or anything but..."

"No, Mickey, I appreciate it." She touched his arm with a soft, delicate hand. "In fact, if I'm going to stay, I am going to have to have some assistance because I have never undressed by myself and these clothes are hardly appropriate for this life." She moved closer to him, her perfume swirling enticingly around his head. "Why don't you help me? The ties are in the back and if they're complicated, we can always cut them free."

Mickey swallowed hard and nodded carefully. She turned so the lovely back of her delicate, ornamented dress was to him, along with her creamy soft skin where the cascading swirl of her golden hair fell loose. With trembling fingers, he gathered the curls and tucked them over her shoulder. She turned her head to look at him out the corner of her eyes. He didn't think he'd seen anything quite so sexy in his life.

He worked carefully at the ribbon that held her bodice on, and when it was free, she slipped it off slowly, her movements graceful and still so refined. He found the corset underneath that, and he wondered how women ever survived wearing such things. It looked like a torture device. He loosened the stays on her skirt so he could reach the bottom of the thing - it went from the middle of her back all the way down to the middle of her hips. He frowned and looked at the thing, puzzled.

"Just loosen the ties and I should be able to get it off," she suggested. Her voice had gone low and inviting.

He remembered Reinette had told her boyfriend, the King of France, that her clothes had been carefully selected for traveling easily. After several minutes, though, it became completely obvious that nothing about this dress was actually carefully selected for anything.

He sighed and went to his desk and pulled out a pen knife he kept there for wire stripping. "Sorry about this," he said quietly, but she smiled at him again, so his brain stopped arguing with him. He cut through all the laces carefully and she took a deep breath.

She was still fully dressed - more than fully dressed by his standards, actually, so he smiled as she smoothed her layers and took another deep breath, her face lighting up with joy. If she'd been wearing those things all her life, a deep breath was probably more wonderful than a chest full of diamonds, he supposed.

"I shall have to ask Rose what she uses. She seems to have no trouble with her shape. Although her waist could be smaller."

"No point in it here," Mickey said with a sigh. "I don't think you need a corset to be beautiful and I'm sure the Doctor won't either."

She smiled and put a hand up to touch his cheek, looking fascinated at the contrast of her delicate, fair skin against his dark complexion. "You're simply too kind, Mickey. But the Doctor is only in love with me, in love with the idea of me, and there is still her. This is complicated."

"Tell me about it," Mickey agreed with a snort.

"I am used to having to share the men I love," she said, sounding like she was hiding resignation behind dignity.

"That's a shame," Mickey said, feeling quite sorry for her. Pretty, gifted, amazingly special, a life that history shone upon and cherished, and she could never have anything that was purely her own. "You shouldn't have to."

She studied him, light and beauty in her eyes. "You understand so well," she whispered and then, all at once, she was kissing him.

She was older than him by more than ten years, and more experienced than him in all manner of ways he didn't want to think about, but he decided to make up for it in enthusiasm. It seemed to delight her, please her to laughter and smiles and soft encouraging words.

When they knocked over the book case, they didn't really think anything of it, too busy losing clothes and exploring ideas and each other to even notice the almighty crash it made as it hit the wall.

* * *

Rose stopped in the corridor, where she was sure she'd heard the crash. "You all right, Mickey?" she called.

"Fantastic," he replied grandly.

There was a soft feminine giggle behind the same door that stolen line came from, then the kind of gentle laughter she'd heard from him once or twice, a long time ago when he'd still been trying to get into her knickers. She turned her head slowly, hardly daring to meet the eyes of the man who clutched ever tighter to her hand. She knew her own were huge with horror.

So were his. He tugged her back down the corridor a few yards and leaned against the wall, his eyes still utterly enormous. He sank down along the wall as if his legs would no longer support him, still clinging to her hand in his like a lifeline.


	4. Chapter 4

**As I am a professional writer and have work to do to get paid, I have decided to deal with these thudding plot bunnies in the traditional manner - I will inflict them on others. Please see my Profile for the Challenges of the Month. June Challenges will be available as of June 3rd, but feel free to tackle May's if you'd rather. The new set will run through the end of June. Please let me know when you respond to a Challenge so I can read and review.**

* * *

**_Chapter 4:_**

"I fall in love in a very intellectual sort of way," he said quietly. "It's all very Don Quixote, you know."

"You always are," Rose replied, loving him more for his vulnerability even as a voice in her head - Sarah Jane's, she rather thought - was warning her to be cautious. "Jousting with windmills. Very you. Even had the horse."

"Didn't know you read Cervantes," he replied vaguely, releasing his grip at last so he could completely destroy his hair style.

"Thanks. I didn't, but I've seen the musical. I have some culture." She smirked then, teasing. "I remembered to bring it from Mum's last time we stopped and everything."

He got the joke, even though he still looked like he'd been hit by the Number 7 bus. Twice. "Must've left it in your bag, though."

"Snob," she said.

He snorted. "Got it in one, as usual."

"I'm very perceptive, me," she said, mocking up a Northern accent for him, just to see if it would make him smile.

It didn't, he was still on other things. "She's perfect in her natural environment."

"'Course she is. She's brilliant, anyone would love her."

He glowered at the wall. "Obviously," he agreed. Then, he dropped his face into his hands. "What am I doing?" he demanded.

She knew he wasn't asking her, more demanding the Universe tell him, but the Universe never seemed to think it owed him even that courtesy. "You're being in love with a dream girl. It happens, Doctor, to everyone. You don't have to stop loving what you already loved just to fall in love with something or someone else. God, don't I know that!" She'd loved Mickey, after all, hadn't wanted to give him up for so long, but then she'd fallen in love with the Doctor the instant he touched her hand, so she knew all about being ambushed by this emotion, better than lots of people, really.

"What?" He lifted his head and blinked at her, curious and baffled and - there it was, the green-eyed monster that had been her blue-eyed Doctor's next-of-kin.

"Don't be stupid," she ordered, angrily, rolling her eyes. "You're not going to do this to me, you're not. You can't go 'round snogging brilliant, beautiful, gifted princesses and then getting annoyed if I might want to even mention someone." She was too aggravated with him to remind him that he was the "someone" if he couldn't figure it out.

He looked like he wanted to argue back for a minute, and then his head went back against the wall and he let out a great, sad sigh. "Welp, that's it then. This is officially going down as the worst day of this incarnation so far."

"Why?" she asked.

"Let's see, where to start. I didn't get to keep the horse, you're never going to forgive me, I deserted my friends for five and a half hours, the TARDIS is threatening to put me on a six foot leash..." He tilted his head to the side. "Sorry," he corrected, "a _three_ foot leash. I got drunk and can't take aspirin for the head ache that is now pounding at the back of my skull, I met a woman who almost understood me, only she doesn't seem to have understood at all, I think I lost my tie, I forgot the obvious solution, I have almost no idea why I did any of this and finally, from behind that door, is the distinct sound of Rickey the Idiot getting the girl."

She snickered, she couldn't help it. "Did you really want her?" she asked softly.

He looked as wounded as he had during that conversation about dancing during the Blitz. "'Course I did," he mumbled.

"Um hum," she said and, because she couldn't help it, not really, she reached over and stroked her hand through his hair, trying to make his headache a bit better anyway. "You know what I think?"

"Not really," he said. "I try not to do that to you, it is abysmally rude, really, to peek at other... people's... thoughts." He turned to look toward the door with an injured, scandalized expression. "That was _rude_!" he exclaimed, as if he'd only just realized it.

She shook her head and lowered her hands to the back of his skull, wreathing her fingers through his hair. "It's easy to love someone when everything's excitement and dancing. I think that. I also think it's easy to love someone who everything is easy for. But the other thing I think is that you did this because of everything that happened with Sarah Jane."

"What?"

"First, you disappointed Sarah Jane and you wanted to make up for it by not disappointing Reinette. You loved Sarah Jane and couldn't come back for her and now you love Reinette and you wanted to come back for her just so she wouldn't be disappointed in you, too. Mind, Reinette wouldn't have wasted her life waiting on you - she was already doing everything she wanted to with her life, and waiting for you would have been sort of a side project for her."

"I'm not sure I like this," he said quietly.

She stilled her hands. "Sorry, I'll stop."

"No, that's fine, that's brilliant. I mean... why are you telling me this?"

"'Cause you deserve to know that you had good reasons."

"They're not good reasons."

"Depends on how you look at it. The other reason was because you made me that promise and you won't take it back even if you wish you could now, since you think I'll still leave you. Bringing Reinette and Mickey along is a way to make sure I hurry up and go so you can say 'I told you so' to my absence."

"That's definitely not a good reason," he said, looking so sad and so indignant and so very hurt. But she wasn't going to take it back, because it was true.

"It is to you, Doctor. That way, you'd get to be right, and I'd get the life you keep thinking I want and you won't have to watch me get old and die. You can come back in fifty years or a hundred and I'll still be thirty-five, living on the Council Estate, eating beans on toast."

"Is that wrong?" he asked, plaintively. "I mean, I can't even figure out who it isn't fair to."

"You're a genius, Doctor, but this stuff isn't your thing."

"I guess not," he admitted sadly.

They sat in silence for quite some time, the Doctor becoming so still against her hands that she wondered if he'd gone to sleep or something. She massaged his scalp and thought about all the things they'd been through together, and how very much he loved her - she knew he did, he'd not been able to hide that from her ever - even if it wasn't "like that". She thought about how they would never say the words because, as she'd said, it wasn't his thing.

She thought about how she should have broken it off with Mickey after that first 12 hour trip in the TARDIS and how much she regretted it later, that day in Cardiff, when she realized she had hurt him, repeatedly and very selfishly. He'd deserved a lot better than her running off on him, and certainly better than Tricia Delaney. She was actually kinda proud of him for this one, but she wouldn't tell the Doctor that, even under torture.

She thought about how jealous she'd been of Reinette at first, and of Sarah Jane, and really it was stupid, because she'd done this to the Doctor an Adam or Jack before. Mind, at the time she hadn't realized she couldn't have a shag and the Doctor. Now, if she could have both, at the same time...

She laughed quietly, remembering the look of incredulous horror on Reinette's face before.

"Hum?" asked the Doctor, a bit sleepily. So he had been drifting off. "What is it?"

"Poor Reinette," she said softly. He tilted his head, waiting for her to elaborate, but she'd be damned if she was going to repeat that bit to him. They each had their secrets and the fact that she wanted him was one she was bound and determined to keep. "Oh, you know," she said, flippantly, "thinking she was here to help with our marriage."

"What's wrong with it?" he asked, indignantly.

"Apart from the obvious?"

It seemed to take him rather too long to figure out what the obvious was. Never mind sleepy, he must have been damn near unconscious. "Oh, that," he said. "Yeah... I should..." He turned to face her, blinking more than usual. "I should probably sort of do something about that."

He'd have to wait a bit to clear things up with Reinette, though. She and Mickey still hadn't emerged from their little love nest. "C'mon, let's go get some tea. We can sort them out later."

He nodded. "Remind me in the morning, I'll need to update all of Mickey's shots."

She stood up and helped him to his feet and had gotten half-way through the tea making before that last statement finally hit something in her mind that made it make sense. "What was that about shots?" she demanded.

He blushed, a soft pink stain smearing across his freckles, obscuring them slightly. "Well, it's just... well, royal diseases aren't the same everywhere."

"What?"

"Oh, you know." He scratched the back of his neck. "Werewolves in England. Hemophilia amongst the Hapsburgs in Austria and Russia. Everywhere else though, it was..." he broke off, muttered something very quiet that she couldn't make out, then finished with, "disease."

"Sorry? No idea what mumble mumble disease is. Wanna try again?"

"I could have done this in my last incarnation," he complained. "Said 'fart' in front of like thirty or forty people."

"Yeah," she agreed, thinking about him, as he had been. Loved him, then, loved him, now. "Yeah, sounds just like you."

"I know!" He grinned wildly, as if he was talking about someone who made him immensely proud. "All those Slitheen, and I didn't know it yet, and I'm standing there, and here's the acting PM with the gas exchange problem, and I turn around and say," and here he dropped into, not only the accent but the voice and, heaven help her, even the expression. "'Excuse me, do you mind not farting while I'm saving the world?!" He laughed happily. "Fantastic!" he added.

She almost thought she caught a flash of blue in those huge chocolate eyes. She couldn't help it, she flung her arms around him and hugged him tight. He returned the hug with enthusiasm, lifting her from her feet and spinning her around a bit.

It was only when he set her back on her feet that she realized... "Oi, you're trying to get out of telling me. Oh, that's low, Doctor." Still, she grinned at him. She hadn't known he could do voices, not even his own. He should have done that right at the first, maybe she wouldn't have worried so much. Ok, maybe she would. She loved that brooding, aching survivor so much it had hurt to think about it.

"Sorry. It's... now, don't panic, he'll be fine, I promise. Just, it's venereal disease. Syphilis, if I remember correctly."

She stared at him. She stared at the wall. She stared back at him. He looked very much as if he was trying not to laugh.

She did it for him.

* * *

Hours later, they were lying on the sofa in the library. She'd wanted to look up Reinette's revised history, and he was, apparently, in the mood to follow her anywhere she went. He was at an angle, half sitting, half sprawled, and she was on her back, using him for a support pillow. He had one leg on the floor, and the other was stretched out her side. She used it for a book rest until she'd found what she wanted, closed the book, and just sort of lay there, too contented to move.

"They're a bit like a fairy tale, aren't they?" she wondered aloud after awhile.

The Doctor straightened a bit. "Aren't everybody in your fairy tales always royalty from the get-go, though?" he asked. "Or at least nobility?" He carefully detached himself from his position - _not_ thinking about how flexible he had to be to do that - and casually shoved her into a sitting position. "I mean, even Cinderella's dad was a proper baron or something. Reinette was born bourgeois and Mickey's a right peasant even on his good days."

Rose snickered a bit. "Never thought about it. Most of 'em were, yeah, I guess." She smiled whimsically. "That's so weird. When I was growing up, fairy tales always seemed to involve the poor girl getting rescued by the handsome prince. I didn't even realize the poor girl was usually a princess herself."

"See, need to pay more attention to what people tell you," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I guess I do." The mood had taken her completely, so she only realized what she'd said, after she murmured, "'Course, I also didn't expect the prince to have big ears and a space ship, so you can't blame me for getting confused."

"Sounded a bit Northern, too," the Doctor mused. "And I made a right scruffy damsel-in-distress."

She giggled, relieved. "Sorry, mate, this you'd look better in a dress than that one."

"If you're going to be doing the rescuing, I suppose I can endure it. Cheeky blonde girl, playing Tarzan." He looked around the room in a reminiscent fondness and then, suddenly, he froze.

"What?" she asked, her eyes darting around the room, her posture stiffening against him, wondering what the danger was, what he was seeing. He didn't say anything, and she didn't see anything, so she poked him in the ribs.

He didn't even flinch, but she followed his eyes to the chandelier hanging in all its crystalline glory over the middle of he room. "What?" she demanded.

The Doctor turned to her, his grin huge, boyish and only a very little bit alarmed. "Just something Reinette mentioned," he said cheerfully. "Earlier when she was telling me off." He eyed the chandelier speculatively. "Don't think it would work," he added, thoughtfully, his head tilted like it usually was when he was doing really complex math in his head.

Rose tried to make sense of that for a few minutes while he continued to do whatever it was he was doing that made his eyes sparkle and dance with that wicked humor like that. Something Reinette had said, and the chandelier.

Yeah, she thought, as the realization hit her, just shoot me.

Because she was tired, because it had been the longest day, because he was beautiful and frustrating and could make her laugh and cry and wax sarcastic and poetic all at once, Rose just decided to give it up as a bad job. "I'm going to bed," she said, very carefully pretending she had absolutely no idea what he was on about.

"OK," he agreed and bounded to his feet.

Apparently, he was still in the mood to follow her everywhere. Fine, she could blush and curse her stupid, chatty human mouth later. His arm chair was still in her room, next to her bed. He even sometimes slept in it, though often enough, before he changed, she'd wake up and catch him watching her sleep.

He trailed after her, smiling a vaguely smug smile. She closed her door behind them and he immediately started shucking his suit, so she grabbed her night dress from under her pillow and ducked into the en suite to change clothes.

The Doctor didn't follow her this time, and she was grateful, because he looked like he might would have done if he wasn't caught up in dealing with a knot in one of his trainer laces. She closed the door between them with his eyes following her, playing merry hell on all of her senses.

She dropped her shoes on the floor with a startled thud when she came out of the loo and found him tucked neatly under the duvet, smiling at her. He was doing his innocent little lamb expression, so she rolled her eyes and, what the hell, got into the bed with him.

The Doctor wrapped his bare arms around her and pulled her close. She lay still but comfortable in his embrace, unable to help the smile on her lips as she pressed her back against his chest. She was almost completely asleep when he leaned over and, right next to her ear, said, "Really Rose? The console?"

Her face turned crimson. The rest of her body did something else entirely, but she could still control her elbow, so she jerked it back into his ribs, not as hard as she would like. She couldn't do that, most of her muscles were either locked to prevent her turning over to snog him senseless, or already melting into him, against her better judgement.

He snickered, puffs of cool air circling her ear and making her have to fight the sudden shiver. "You don't even know if you're gay," she mumbled angrily, fighting the blush again. "So lets drop it, yeah?"

"If you insist," he replied flippantly.

"I insist," she agreed, and closed her eyes, fighting to get back to properly sleepy.

He waited until she was nearly gone again. "I'm not gay," he said.

She growled. "You can prove it in the morning," she muttered, because she was so going to kill him if he didn't quit murmuring startling things in her ear like that.

"That won't prove anything," he said, in that 'I'm the Doctor and I can talk for the world' tone of his. "That's perfectly normal in healthy humanoid males. S'like a check engine light in a car. Always comes on just to show it's working."

She rolled over and gaped at him. "What?" she demanded incredulously.

"Sorry," he said, but he didn't look it, not a little bit, not at all.

"You can't talk about venereal disease, but you can talk about..."

"You sorta asked," he said, in a quiet tone that, for some reason, made her body try to blush again.

"Is there any way I can get you to stop talking?" she muttered.

"I dunno," he answered. His eyes were nearly black in the dim light the TARDIS left on for them. "Is there?" His voice was going to turn her into a puddle of goo, any second now.

"Yeah," she said, finally, and shoved her pillow into his face. "Now shut it and keep your check engine lights to yourself."

He sputtered with laughter. "You're impossible," he told her, his voice slightly muffled.

"So are you," she answered, because he was. She pulled the pillow off him and tucked it back under her head.

"I know," he agreed, drawing her down to rest her head on his bare chest. Not thinking about that, either. "It's good that way, though," he added.

"Better with two," she agreed and closed her eyes.

This time he let her sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**As I am a professional writer and have work to do to get paid, I have decided to deal with these thudding plot bunnies in the traditional manner - I will inflict them on others. Please see my Profile for the Challenges of the Month. June Challenges will be available as of June 3rd, but feel free to tackle May's if you'd rather. The new set will run through the end of June. Please let me know when you respond to a Challenge so I can read and review.  
**

* * *

**_Chapter 5:_**

Rose woke when her bedroom door opened with, "Rose have you seen the... oh."

The door hastily closed itself over the sound of much laughter. Rose rolled her eyes and there was a throaty chuckle next to her ear. She snuggled back into the Doctor's body and strongly considered going back to sleep. Except for...

"Yeah, all right," she said, trying not to laugh too much. "Is that because of more car parts, then, or are you trying to confuse me?"

"You're beautiful, you know," he replied, not answering the question.

"You've told me before," she reminded him. "You forgot the 'considering' this time."

"I'm not under the console this time."

She grabbed her pillow and whacked him round the head with it. "That's your excuse?!" she demanded indignantly.

He rubbed at his head, messing his hair up even more than it already was, and smirked gleefully. "Best I can come up with. I refuse to be held responsible for everything that came out of my mouth as the bloke in the straight jacket. I wasn't in my right mind, after all."

"Have you ever been?" she asked softly, and put her hand up to trace his lightly stubbled jaw.

He snorted. "Possibly not. Probably not." He frowned. "No, I don't think so. Kidnapping people is hardly a viable solution to the problem of them seeing something no one would believe, is it?"

"What?" she asked, incredulously. "When?"

"Oh, that was ages ago, ages and ages. Just after I stole the TARDIS." He frowned as more giggles erupted from the hallway. "What is that about?" he demanded crossly.

Rose sighed. "They probably think we're having make-up sex," she admitted. Then, she clapped her hand over her mouth and buried her burning face into the pillow.

"It's an idea, I suppose," he muttered.

"No need to sound so enthusiastic," she complained sarcastically. She got out of the bed and glared at him.

"What'd I say?" he asked, frustrating and bewildered and completely innocent, with huge doe eyes to back it up.

She sighed. "Impossible alien," she said. "Well, don't worry, it's not happening."

"I noticed," he agreed. "Not that I would... I mean, not that I wouldn't... I... no, not gonna keep talking this time, there's no telling what else will come out of my mouth, I mean, you'd think I would have learned after nine-hundred years not to put my foot in it sometimes..." He kept rambling as he got out of the bed and looked around for his clothes. What was funny about it was that he kept talking about how he was going to quit talking.

Rose, to stop herself admiring his slender figure standing there ranting in nothing but his boxers, snatched up his trousers and flung them at him. He nodded gratefully and tugged them on, then reached into her closet, pulled out one of his t-shirts (she had no idea how it got there, honest), and tugged it on over his head. The whole time - even with his t-shirt over his face - he orated at great length about how he was no longer speaking.

Rose stalked up to him. "Doctor," she said, catching his face between her hands, "shut up."

"Oh, right." He ran a hand nervously through his hair, then scratched the back of his neck. His hand came over then, to tug on his ear. He kept looking at her, wide-eyed and sorta gone. "Are you going to kiss me?" he asked after a minute or so of gazing at her in utter confusion.

She stepped back from him as if burned. "No," she said firmly, "I don't think I will."

He pouted. "Why not?"

"Ruddy alien," she muttered, and stalked to her dresser to find clothes. "Where are we going today?" she asked, when she could do it calmly and cheerfully.

"Dunno. How about Maripoza? They have kites."

She thought about it. "Yeah, kites is good. We can tie Mickey up and fly him for all that laughing."

The Doctor chuckled a bit. "Oooh, I almost forgot!" he burbled. "Tell you what, I bet I can make Mickey's head explode!" He gave her that mad grin and snatched up his suit jacket. "Rose Tyler, this is gonna be brilliant."

Then, he opened her door and stepped through it, carefully, making sure she wasn't visible from the hall. She couldn't decide if he was being nice or over-protective again, so she just let it go and went to get her shower.

* * *

The Doctor stopped outside the kitchen door at the sound of quiet voices. He wasn't eavesdropping. He just didn't want to interrupt.

"Ya keep tellin' yourself that," said the Manchester accent in his head. He ignored it and leaned against the the wall.

"I simply cannot understand," said Reinette quietly. "And I know you want to stay out of it. I do too, but it hurts me a little, to know that we will be so happy together and they will... not."

"I got no idea how you survived politics, babe. You're simply too good, you know?" Mickey was apparently standing right behind her. The Doctor was very good at -_absolutely not - _eavesdropping. Mickey sighed and walked a few steps closer to the door. The Doctor shuffled back so he wouldn't be seen. "Rose always said she'll never do another bloke who's on the rebound. S'how she ended up with that Jimmy Stone character."

"Who was he?" Reinette wondered, and the Doctor smiled a little. She would be trading court gossip for Powell Estate gossip, he supposed. Probably more interesting, some of it.

"Too old for her, and too stupid to breathe and walk at the same time. Wanna-be rock star. She hooked up with him after he broke it off with his girl. She dropped out of school and moved in with him and everything and then, six months later she gets home early 'cuz she lost her job and finds the bastard in bed with the ex. So you can see she'd be wary of that sort of thing."

"Oh, yes. Louis was forever bringing in new girls, but he always returned to me in the end. One of them learned the truth of this the hard way when she tried to supplant me. But Rose could not have known, surely."

"Nah," said Mickey, and from the sound of a scraping chair, the Doctor knew the younger man had taken a seat. "She didn't even have her eighteenth birthday 'til the next day."

"It's very sad for a young girl to get into such a difficult situation. I hope someone dealt severely the man who used her."

The Doctor was strongly considering going to set the coordinates to do just that, when the sound of Mickey chuckling stopped him. "Yeah. Someone put the fear of God in the stupid bugger, 'cuz he moved to America and joined a cult, not two days later. Never saw Rose again after she chucked her ring at him."

They were silent for some moments, and then Reinette made a suggestion, her voice cheerful and catty. "You must stage a very loud fight with Rose. Then it will not be this 'rebound' issue you mentioned. What does she think the Doctor is rebounding from?"

There was a sound that was very, very likely kissing, so the Doctor gave them a few moments to break that up. Rose thought he was on the rebound, he supposed. Or Mickey thought Rose thought he was on the rebound. He rolled his eyes. Could this situation possibly get any more domestic?

"Don't say that," he muttered to himself. "Or there'll be Jackie Tyler banging at the door with a bone to pick in just a minute."

* * *

Mickey looked up from the plate of strawberries he and Reinette were sharing. The Doctor bounded through the door, that huge, deranged grin on his face. For a second, Mickey wondered if the Doctor'd decided to change his face back, then he wondered if maybe Rose had changed her mind and... not thinking about that.

"Mickety-Mick!" the Doctor exclaimed as he practically crashed into the table. "Off to the Med Bay with you, now!"

Reinette smiled at both of them, a curious expression on her beautiful face. Mickey picked up another strawberry and fed it to her. The Doctor laughed at them, which sort of surprised Mickey... all right, completely surprised Mickey. "Don't worry, Reinette, we'll get you taken care of next. Why are you eating strawberries without bananas?" he added.

"Because there aren't any bananas," she answered, quite calmly, her beautiful eyes sparkling. "I'm sure you know someone who must have eaten them all."

He went to rifle in his pockets, apparently to find one, but as he wasn't wearing his jacket, it didn't work. "Huh. Wrong clothes. Ah well, next stop, some place with bananas."

Rose arrived behind him in the doorway, then. "I like bananas," she said, humorously. "Bananas are good." Then she stepped around him, helped herself to a strawberry, and took the seat across from Reinette in a decidedly graceless manner.

"C'mon, Mickey," the Doctor said, and clapped him on the shoulder, "let's get this done."

Mickey was quiet until they arrived in the Med Bay, thinking confusing thoughts on the subject of what the Doctor was likely to do to him for stealing his new girl. The bitter thought that it was only fair surfaced briefly, but he quashed it down. That wasn't why he did this. He did it because Reinette deserved someone of her own and he, Mickey could be that for her, and she could be that for him, too, now.

Once the Doctor had gestured Mickey to sit on a small bench and began going over him with some kind of little, whirring, Star Trek looking box, Mickey looked up at the Time Lord and frowned a bit. "Sorry," he apologized, because he was, a bit, at least sorry that the Doctor couldn't have an uncomplicated life about anything.

"Don't be," the Doctor replied quietly. He looked like he was considering saying something else, but then the serious look vanished from his face to be replaced by a broad grin. "There we go!" he exclaimed. He reached for an enormous needle and held it up to the light.

"What're we doing?" Mickey wondered, staring at the needle in horror. He felt his face go bloodless. Surely the Doctor wouldn't...

"Got to update your vaccines if you're going to be time traveling. Temporal radiation can only do so much." The Doctor grinned at the needle and tapped it, considering. Mickey bit his lip and finally, mercifully, the Doctor set the huge needle aside. He pulled out something else, a much smaller whatsits, adjusted something on it with a few quick twists of his long fingers, then reached for a bit of gauze. He rubbed it on Mickey's arm and Mickey guessed it was an alcohol wipe from the coldness and the funny smell. Mickey looked away.

There was a quick click, a sound like water running, and then his arm felt cold. Mickey shook it for a moment, while the Doctor just leaned back and smiled in smug satisfaction.

"Thanks, Doctor," Mickey said and looked at the Time Lord, wanting to tell him he was an idiot, but not sure how to go about it.

"You'd better be good to her, Mickey," the Doctor commanded quietly, abruptly very stern and serious. "Take better care of her than you did your last girlfriend, or you'll have me to answer to."

Mickey shook his head. Here was a way, he thought. "How is my last girlfriend?" he asked with a smirk. He'd only seen Rose for a few seconds, so he couldn't begin to guess what she was feeling.

The Doctor shrugged. "Dunno," he said. "I've never met Tricia Delaney."

Mickey stared at him. He couldn't believe... how had the Doctor heard about the fiasco where Mickey had decided to take up with a girl he didn't even like, just to see what Rose would say. So, fighting to keep from blushing or hiding his head in embarrassment, he asked.

"Rose told me," the Doctor said, tidying away the supplies he was using. "We tend to talk a lot when we're chained up and waiting for a chance to run for our lives. S'pose we'll talk about this bit, next time." The Doctor shrugged, then grinned at him and gestured vaguely around.

Mickey snorted. "Figured you might have talked about that last night," he said wryly. "Or couldn't you find the time?" He emphasized that last with a broad grin, hoping to find out, at the very least, how often the Doctor and Rose woke up in that bed together.

The Doctor shrugged, looking utterly oblivious. "Rose was exhausted when I took her to bed," he said. He reached over and selected a small vial from a cabinet labeled "Pharmaceuticals". "You want this?" he asked.

"What is it?" Mickey wondered. How could he possibly want an alien space drug?

"Works about six months in your system," the Doctor commented, and picked up that little device again. He inserted the vial - obviously he expected Mickey to take it. "It's a contraceptive. Works on the male of the species - seems more polite to me, that. I assume you'll need it." The Doctor waggled his eyebrows while Mickey rolled his eyes. "Well, you are human, after all."

Mickey thrust his arm out to accept the drug but, since it had been awhile since the Doctor had insulted his species for him, he demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

The Doctor gave him the medicine with another little sound like flowing water, then looked up to meet Mickey's eyes. "Well, I've never understood the point of it, myself," he said curiously. "Rubbing genitals together. But it does seem to fascinate you humans." His brown eyes were huge and innocent and so very, very alien. "I can't see what all the fuss is, and it doesn't seem very sanitary, either."

The way the Doctor was looking at him, Mickey realized that the ancient alien probably expected him to explain what the deal was. Mickey gaped at him. "I... I gotta go," he said.

"All right," the Doctor replied amiably enough, though he did sound a bit disappointed.

Mickey fled.

* * *

Rose blinked in some surprise as Mickey came charging into the library. She had been showing Reinette the history book that she and the Doctor had been looking at last night. The older woman was delighted and a little sad, so Rose had decided to keep her company until she felt better.

"Um. Reinette, babe, I need to talk to Rose just a moment. Something very important I've got to tell her. Can I...?"

Reinette was standing and smiling regally before he even finished his sentence. "I'll be in my room, Rose," she offered sweetly. "If you need a woman's perspective, do come see me."

Rose decided then and there that as long as Reinette stuck to Mickey and they made each other happy, she was going to be one of the best friends Reinette had ever had. "I'll be by in just a few minutes. I'll help you pick out something to wear for our adventure today, ok?"

"Thank you," Reinette said, and nodded graciously. She reached up, took Mickey's still stunned face in her hand, and kissed him deeply. Then she walked off, shoulders back and head high, proud and beautiful and quite a bit like she was walking on air.

"She's so in_ love_ with you," Rose teased a bit as the door closed behind the Uncrowned Queen of France. "Told me earlier she didn't know how I ever gave you up, so of course I had to admit we never..."

"Um. Oh, right. Yeah." Mickey still looked bewildered, maybe even more than he did when he came in.

Rose knew how that was. Mickey never could see his own appeal. Girls, and even some blokes hit on him from time to time and Mickey didn't get it. Well, but he had been a bit useless before, but he was better now, so he shouldn't find it so strange anymore. As long as he stayed with his pretty older lover, Rose was happy for them both. He didn't stop looking shell-shocked, though, so Rose knew the Doctor must have said something that upset him.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yeah," Mickey said finally, and sat down beside her. "The Doctor just said he had to update my vaccinations and stuff." He looked at her, warily. "Look, Rose. We had a bit of a talk, not on purpose, but I..." Mickey took a deep breath. "I think it's time you give up on him. The Doctor, I mean."

Rose shook her head and rolled her eyes. That was never going to happen, but what was Mickey on about? "How many times do I have to tell people the Doctor and me are friends?"

Mickey gulped and looked quite peaky. "You don't have to tell me anymore," he assured her. He put his face in his hands and muttered, "Too much information. WAY too much information."

Rose knew then and there that something was definitely up. "Oh?" she said. "What about?"

"Look, Rose, I know he acts like he's normal, but it's just an act. He's not a normal bloke."

"I know that," she said and rolled her eyes. "Mickey, he's got two hearts and turned into someone else right in front of me. How'm I s'posed to not know?"

"Well, just, with the kissing thing. He seems all normal, but he ain't."

She nodded, and gestured him to continue. Mickey looked like he'd rather take poison than do that. "Well?" she demanded, finally, knowing she sounded a bit like her mother when she said that.

"Just... oh God, just don't cry, please. The Doctor... he said he... he doesn't even understand about... Jesus, Rose, he says he doesn't see the point of sex. Called it 'rubbing genitals together'. Wanted me to explain, I think, but I wasn't gonna."

Rose bit her lip. She supposed she could burst out laughing and tell Mickey he'd been had. She knew better, enough, as a conversation in a hospital basement came back to her, all that innuendo and double entendre and resonating concrete. But, really, if the Doctor had gone to so much trouble to set this up... She put her hand over her mouth, so she could hide her smile and maybe seem a little shocked that they had discussed this. "Oh, I know," she said at last and shook her head to say "what a waste". "His species doesn't do that."

"But..." Mickey was looking at her, incredulously. "But then..." He sputtered at length through the start of several thunderstruck questions and, finally, just gaped at her.

She put a comforting hand over Mickey's. "It's all right," she said encouragingly.

"But Rose... where do more of them come from?" he asked.

She could tell him, she supposed. Or claim the stork brought them, or something. Finally, though, she realized that the Doctor wasn't the only imp of the perverse on board the TARDIS. "Something to do with licking things, I understand," she said, deliberately vague and confused. "I didn't quite get it, really, it's all very scientific."

"But the Doctor does that all the time!!" he yelped and jumped from the sofa to stare down at her, his mouth wide open and his eyes darting about as if looking for an escape.

Rose decided to pretend to be completely oblivious. "Does he? I've never seen him at it. Are you sure?"

Mickey gave her a look that said he despaired of her and her sanity completely. "You've lost it, Rose," he said firmly. "Remember the sword fight? How that started, with the Doctor having a lick of A positive human blood?"

"Oh, yeah, well, that was a one off, I'm sure. He had to be certain, you know?" She shrugged helplessly.

The Doctor came in just a moment later, whistling tunelessly, his hands buried deep in his pockets. Rose looked up at something over Mickey's shoulder so she couldn't meet the Doctor's eyes and start giggling. Then, she decided to bend down and retie the laces of her trainers when the Doctor settled unceremoniously next to her on the sofa in the spot Mickey had vacated. She expected him to do something unbelievable, but the feeling of his tongue across the back of her neck was not something she would have expected in a million years.

Biting her lip against the dual sensations of humorous shock and the sudden urge to shag him rotten, she sat up. "What was that?" she asked, feigning cluelessness. She darted a look at Mickey, and he was pale and gob-smacked, and gesturing at the Doctor's face. She turned to the Doctor, who just held up a hand, looking innocent. "Your fingers are cold," she informed him, and seized the hand in hers.

"All right, Mickety-Mick?" the Doctor asked non-chalantly.

"Yeah," said Mickey. "Yeah, I'm fine, I'll just... I'm gonna..." He turned toward the door and took off at a dead run.

As the door shut behind him, the Doctor counted, very, very softly. "One... two... three..."

They both burst out laughing.


	6. Chapter 6

**As I am a professional writer and have work to do to get paid, I have decided to deal with these thudding plot bunnies in the traditional manner - I will inflict them on others. Please see my Profile for the Challenges of the Month. June Challenges will be available as of June 3rd, but feel free to tackle May's if you'd rather. The new set will run through the end of June. Please let me know when you respond to a Challenge so I can read and review.  
**

* * *

**_Chapter 6:_**

"So, what do you think?" the Doctor asked, sounding like a salesman, after the buyer's opinion. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, looking for all the world like he was about to start selling the features.

Rose brushed her hair off her face and nodded, thoughtfully. "Well, it has plumbing," she said. "That's a definite plus."

"Um hum," agreed the Doctor. "Notice that the walls are all clean and dry, so there isn't any mildew or slime."

"Definitely a good thing," she agreed. "What do you think? Eight for the cleanliness, no more than five for proper privacy and... I'm thinking maybe a nine for the accommodations."

"No, not a nine," the Doctor disagreed. "There's only a twin bed."

"Yeah," Rose admitted, sitting down on that bed and bouncing a bit. "Still, it's an actual mattress and not straw or something. Definitely higher than a six."

The Doctor grinned. "So, all in all, I suppose, we'll give them what, a seven point one? Sound fair?"

"Yeah, that works for me."

Mickey just gaped at them. "What're you doing? Writing a guide book to intergalactic prisons or something?"

Rose giggled. Too quickly, the Doctor jumped in with, "I absolutely, positively, categorically, definitively, definitely and, tell the truth, any other sort of 'lee' you can come up with, deny that I would do any such thing. And I didn't write that book, either."

"Which book?" said Reinette, looking baffled at the Doctor's vehemence.

"Doesn't matter. I didn't write it. It wasn't me."

"We believe you," soothed Rose.

Mickey didn't.

The Doctor rounded on him, leaning up against the bars separating their two cells. "So, what are you in for?" he asked, playfully.

"Following a lunatic, apparently," said Mickey, shaking his head. He held Reinette a little closer, hoping she was ok with this. She looked the very picture of calm, but she was trembling a little, even if only Mickey could tell. He was amazingly proud of her.

The playful banter the Doctor and Rose exchanged seemed to be helping, though, so he decided to go along with it. "What about you two? Tell me it wasn't lewd and lascivious behavior this time."

The Doctor laughed. "That only happened once!" he insisted.

"And we had Jack with us," Rose agreed. "And Jack could do lewd and lascivious just by saying hello."

Reinette looked up at the younger woman, curiosity in her expression. "Who is Jack?"

"Captain of the Innuendo Squad," said Mickey, grimly.

"Captain Jack Harkness," Rose said, fondly, and started telling the story of how they had met him.

Mickey couldn't believe he was sitting in a prison cell for no readily apparent reason, laughing, comfortable with his arms around the Uncrowned Queen of France. His life was definitely changing for the weirder, but it had been doing that since the Doctor snatched Rose's hand and heart and put stars in her eyes. But at least it was finally changing for the better. He wasn't the tin dog anymore; he had Reinette to look after, and she needed him.

"So they're standing on either side of me, and a right daft pair of body guards they made, too," said Rose.

"Oi!" the Doctor protested, mildly. "I had to keep an eye on you. And Jack wanted in your knickers, and he couldn't do that if you got killed. At least I don't think so..."

Rose laughed and hit him lightly. "Jack wanted in my pants, in your pants and, if I remember correctly, he was already in the pants of that Army captain friend of his."

Reinette looked astonished. "Your century is very strange," she commented. "Generally, such things are not spoken of in my time."

"Not much different in Rose's," said the Doctor. "Although they're getting better." He shrugged, then poked Rose. "So, go on. Finish making fun of me."

"You made it bloody irresistible. Jack's got this sonic blaster, can use it as a cannon, too, and he's shouting out the features, comparing notes while we're surrounded. This one's on my other side, defending me, I guess, and won't admit that _his_ sonic dohickey is a bloomin' screwdriver."

Mickey could just see the leather-jacket Doctor there, all defensive of the sheer brilliance of his screwdriver in the face of an on-coming threat, a pretty boy, and Rose being in danger. "God, I wish I could have seen that," Mickey said with a chuckle. "Bet that leather jacket was about to go up in flames, he'd've been so pissed off."

"I have a lower body temperature than you," the Doctor said haughtily. "And don't knock that jacket. Rose liked it."

"Still do," she said. "S'hanging in my closet." Then, she turned away from the Doctor's look of incredulity and shrugged. "Anyway, I grabbed Jack's blaster, pointed it at the floor, and dropped us all down to the basement. Jack used the digital rewind to close the hole, and then they proceeded to argue about what possible use you could find for a sonic screwdriver. We're surrounded by gas-mask zombies and a little kid who can knock down walls and I'm at least trying to find a light switch while these two are burning the midnight testosterone and shouting at each other."

"S'not testosterone," the Doctor said. "You always accuse me of that. Not human, it's not testosterone."

"Whatever," she said with a shrug. "And I don't accuse you of that any more. But Mickey, you've got to hear this. The Doctor demands a list of assets, and Jack says, 'Well, I've got a banana, and in a pinch, you could put up some shelves.'"

Even the Doctor laughed. So, apparently, did the guard, because they heard a fifth voice that none of them recognized. Rose turned her head and frowned at the sudden appearance of a mint green, squat, and furry alien at the adjoining doors to their cells. "You will tell stories," the alien informed Rose.

She blinked. "Um... why?" she asked.

"You will be performing tomorrow. You will tell stories. What do your friends do?"

"Do?" the Doctor questioned. "Lots of things. What are you on about?"

"Welcome to the Circus Dyphus," said the alien. "You are our guest performers. You will perform tomorrow."

"Oh, get me out of here, now," the Doctor muttered grumpily and rolled his eyes. "I know you lot," he said to the alien. "You'll only let us go if we're awful. And we can't just pretend to be awful, because as usual, you'll have one of your wretched scanners on us. And then, if we do what you want and do it well, you'll keep us until we get rescued or the crowd gets tired of us. I'm sorry, but my friends and I respectfully decline to be side-show props. Let us out before I decide to become difficult."

"Very interesting," said the guard. "You can make impressive and threatening speeches if you like, but I don't think it will interest the audience. Do you have any other ideas?"

The Doctor sighed. "Yeah," he said, grimly. "I'm a right Harry Houdini."

"Houdini!" the guard exclaimed in a soft, reverent voice, and bowed low. "You seek to emulate the gods. Good luck." Then he jotted a note on the clipboard thing he was carrying and turned to Reinette. "How about you, pretty one?"

"Leave 'er alone," Rose snapped.

Reinette held up a hand to still them all from jumping to her defense. "I can sing, recite several plays from my culture, dance, and play the clavichord. You may choose what suits you."

"Music's good," the green alien said. "You will play music."

"You will supply me an instrument, of course. One suitable for my training and my station."

"I'll do my best," the guard agreed, daunted by her cold and disdainful beauty. Mickey grinned. As soon as the little bastard was gone, he was going to snog her breathless. "What about you?"

"Erm..." Mickey wracked his brains. "I can juggle," he admitted, at last, not sure of anything else he knew that would be useful in a circus.

"Mickey the Idiot!" the Doctor exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air and drawing everyone's attention to him, "you've been holding out on me! You never said you could juggle. Oh, that's brilliant!"

The guard, meanwhile, had passed out.

"What's with him?" Rose asked, poking her foot through the barred door to prod the guard.

"Oh, the excitement got to him," the Doctor said. "He's just spiffed - hum, don't think I like 'spiffed' - he's utterly thrilled to meet Mickey. Honored and delighted and all that."

"Me?" Mickey exclaimed, incredulously.

Reinette thumped him, apparently picking up one of Rose's habits. "Of course you," she said. "Please be reasonable, Mickey. You are a gifted person."

The Doctor and Rose only looked slightly suspicious as they nodded with all-too innocent expressions on their faces. "But seriously," the Doctor continued, "that's the deal with the circus. Clowns are sacred and the tricks they can do - like juggling - these people simply haven't got the hand eye coordination for it. Anyone who can is treated like royalty. Why didn't you tell me you could juggle, though? Oh, the fun we could have had with that."

"Why?" said Mickey. "Can you?"

The Doctor snorted. "'Course I can."

"Like you can dance?" Rose asked, then gave that little grin that Mickey swore was only for the Doctor, her tongue poking out of her teeth. It was a regular mannerism now, but he'd never seen it before she got caught up in the world of aliens and daily madness.

"He is an excellent dancer," Reinette said.

"Now he is," Rose replied. "Not as good as he used to be, though - once he stopped resonating concrete and remembered how," she added, with a look that was at once teasing and scathing.

The guard interrupted before the Doctor could say whatever was on his mind - looked like a whole load of really whiny protests to Mickey. "Excuses, muchly," the guard said as he hauled himself to his feet. "The sacred clown will be the highlight of the show. Much gratitude that you have come."

"One performance," said the Doctor.

"Ten," countered the guard.

"One," the Doctor repeated firmly, and his eyes started to get dark and strange.

"I might can get the committee to agree to eight," the guard said, cautiously.

"One, only one, that's it. You take one and we go our way and everything is fine. Nothing happens. But more than that is asking too much, and I do have a way of becoming difficult if people treat my companions and Rose unfairly. Do you understand me?"

"Ways," Rose added. Her face was shining, like a light. She was smiling, but looking excited and cheerful and grim all at once. "Ways and ways. Best to just do as he says."

"I will have to take it up with the committee," the alien said with a sound that might have been a sigh. Or gas. Mickey wasn't really sure about this sort of thing.

"Best toddle off and do that, then," said the Doctor. "And tell them I'm the Doctor, and what I say happens." He stood strong and straight and firm like that for another moment, all serious, with his eyes boring into the alien. They were both aliens at that moment, actually, because the Doctor hardly ever looked human anymore when he let his power show. Then, he slumped into his more customary pose. "Oh, and we'll need costumes."

Rose grinned. "Gorgeous dresses for me and Reinette, only the very best for Mickey, of course, and the Doctor will be fine if you just bring him his own coat."

The alien agreed. "Everything you need will be supplied tomorrow. A meal will be brought shortly, and then you should rest."

With those words, the alien turned and was gone.

Rose and the Doctor hugged each other and grinned, then reached through the bars to hug at Mickey and Reinette. Mickey couldn't believe them. They were arguing about circus performances with mint green fuzzy toads and loving every minute of it. He looked at Reinette, who shook her head with a bemused expression that really said it all. What could you do with them, anyway?

* * *

Much later that evening, Rose was slumped on the twin bed, looking up at the pacing Doctor and smiling fondly. In the next cell, Mickey was asleep with Reinette, looking so very normal, and therefore quite odd, sprawled across his chest. It had taken every ounce of persuasion Rose had in her to talk Reinette into blue jeans this morning. She'd been wearing Mickey's bathrobe over what looked like seven layers of undergarments when they had breakfast, but Rose moved to fix it as quickly as she could.

They'd decided on Dyphus instead of Maripoza, because Dyphus had a banana grove and intergalactic shopping where Rose could take Reinette and get her some new under things. The TARDIS had dragged out jeans, a blouse and a bra for Reinette from somewhere, and Rose had had a job trying to convince the older woman that the small bit of lace and wire was really all she needed.

They'd been out of the TARDIS for maybe twenty minutes when they'd been rounded up and plunked down in the cells. Unfortunately, the aliens had taken the Doctor's coat and jacket, one of which contained the sonic screwdriver, the other the psychic paper.

Still, as she'd mentioned earlier, the cells weren't bad, compared to some she'd been in. They were clean and dry and warm. The blankets on the bed were thick and uninfested. The food, when it had been brought in, was absolutely exquisite, better than she'd had in restaurants on some of the planets they'd been jailed on. The Doctor said that was because of Mickey's status as something special.

He'd practiced over dinner with some fruit from the meal and Rose had been surprised to learn he was better than she remembered. The Doctor, of course, hadn't been able to resist complicating things and randomly chucked extra fruit into the display, right through the bars. Mickey, at first, had been upset, but when he saw Reinette laughing and cheering him on, he made quite a virtuoso performance, even if he occasionally would drop one of the new pieces out of the rotation.

"She's good for him," Rose said, suddenly. She'd only just realized it, really. "I just hope this isn't too upsetting for her."

"He's good for her in that respect," the Doctor replied. "I cannot think why I couldn't see this."

Rose smiled at him, softly, tenderly, the crazy alien object of the truest love she'd ever felt. "Told you, Doctor. S'not your thing."

He shook his head. "I know a lot about love, Rose Tyler. And yet it almost always manages to sneak up on me."

She looked at the sleeping couple and sighed wistfully. "Maybe it's not my thing, either," she replied. "Because it snuck up on me, too."


	7. Chapter 7

**As I am a professional writer and have work to do to get paid, I have decided to deal with these thudding plot bunnies in the traditional manner - I will inflict them on others. Please see my Profile for the Challenges of the Month. June Challenges will be available as of June 3rd, but feel free to tackle May's if you'd rather. The new set will run through the end of June. Please let me know when you respond to a Challenge so I can read and review.**

* * *

**_Chapter 7:  
_**

"I'm sorry," the Doctor whispered, and sat down next to Rose. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" she wanted to know.

"Mickey. I know you were trying to get back with him."

"When?" Rose demanded.

The Doctor blinked at her in astonishment. "What?" he said.

"OK, not doing that," Rose said, chuckling softly. She put her head on his shoulder and the Doctor couldn't resist wrapping an arm around her. "What off Earth gave you that idea?"

"Off Earth?" he teased.

"Well, s'not on Earth, so it was either 'off Earth' or 'on the TARDIS', which didn't sound quite as good. And stop changing the subject. Just because I don't speak five million languages..."

"Five billion," he amended. "Five billion, six hundred forty-seven million, five hundred twenty-two thousand, three hundred and four, to be exact."

"Not going to let you," she sing-songed softly. "Why did you think I wanted to get back with Mickey?"

"Well, you weren't happy when he came on board, but by the time we got to the spaceship, you were cheering him on like you did, that day, with the Sycorax. I just thought..." He crushed his free hand through his hair, then detached the other, so he could even the mess up. Somehow, this wasn't working out like he thought it should. He was supposed to be sorry, she was supposed to cry on his shoulder like she used to do, he was supposed to say something philosophical and insightful, she was supposed to admire his brilliance like she used to do and... well, he hadn't got much further than that, yet, but apparently he wasn't going to get into any of it. He sighed.

"You're the most incredibly thick genius I've ever heard of," Rose said with considerable awe.

He snorted. "Humph. Tell you what, I'll take you to meet Issac next. Brilliant man. Thick doesn't even cover it, though."

She smiled and took his hand, apparently giving up trying to keep him on topic. "How do you make that out?"

"He had this cat, right. Loved that cat, so he invented the cat flap so she could get in and out of the house when she wanted."

"Good thing," Rose said, "or I might not have met you the second time."

"Remind me to thank him," the Doctor agreed, then shrugged. "One day his cat had kittens. And my friend Issac Newton, brilliant, gifted, limitless genius that he was, looked at his cat, looked at his cat flap, looked at the kittens, and installed a second, smaller cat flap."

Rose giggled. The Doctor beamed proudly at her. If he could still make her laugh, keep her smiling, keep her happy... maybe he could keep _her_. Maybe she wouldn't go like everyone else did. He searched his brain for something else to say. It had lots of ideas but none of them was the one he was looking for.

"You don't mind this, do you?" Rose asked, leaning on him, smiling up at him.

"What?"

"Talking about what you did... what last you did... I dunno. Just saying "the Doctor" - not saying which Doctor, I guess. I'm not trying to pretend you haven't changed or anything, just..." She shook her head, looking as if what she meant was confusing her.

"Actually, it's a little refreshing. Most people treat me like different people, you know. Mickey does. I know he'd've never said that bit about 'the Mrs. and the ex' to me in my last body."

"'Cuz you'd've pulled his head off for real just for suggesting it," Rose replied, then gifted him with that grin he loved so much. "You are different, you know, in some ways."

"Yeah," he agreed, and shook his head. "I'm sorta brown," he added, glumly.

"Hey, go easy on me. My best friend had just turned into someone rude and not ginger, I was in the middle of an invasion, and he was demanding I tell him if he was sexy. Where the hell did that come from, anyway?"

He chuckled ruefully. "No idea," he admitted, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Still, you could've lied, gone easy on my ego."

"Yes," she said sarcastically, "because your ego is in so much danger. Poor little thing."

"Well..." he began, wanting to defend himself. He couldn't explain this, but she probably knew, his Rose. She always figured these things...

"Oh, my God!" she whispered, sounding astonished and appalled and upset. "You _are_!"

"Probably," he said. "Are what?"

Unfortunately, she didn't get to answer, because the night guard hopped up to the bars and glared at them. "Will you two stop?" he demanded.

"Sure," said Rose cheerfully. "Stop what?"

"Talking. You sit up and talk all night and you'll be useless to us tomorrow."

"We're not bothering anybody," the Doctor replied quietly. "You're the one whinging and..."

The guard hurled something into the cell with them and it exploded, blasting a huge cloud of white powder all over the pair on the bed. The Doctor snatched Rose close, but was too late as the powder sprayed right into her face. He forced himself not to panic, hands darting to her wrists to check her pulse, to make sure she was safe, let her be safe, please not something stupid like...

Rose had her hands over her mouth and nose, he noted with pride. "Keep your eyes closed," he ordered, no longer doing anything to keep his volume down. He traced his tongue across the apple of her cheek, since it was closest, so he could analyze the powder and see what he needed to do to counter act it.

"You idiot!" she raged, lashing out at him with her small fists. "What if it's poison? And you're putting it in your mouth!!"

He kept her close, swept her up and held her tight while he stormed up to the bars of their cage, completing his analysis as he went. "Rose's war paint. Rain and moonlight. Time, human pheromones. And..." He looked at the smug little fuzzy frog in astounded fury. "Sugar??" he demanded.

"That should knock you out," the frog agreed. "Congratulations."

"What's happening?" Mickey asked blearily. Reinette was sitting up next to him, looking shaken and confused.

"They tried to gas us with sugar?" Rose questioned frantically.

The Doctor grinned in giddy relief. "Yep," he replied and, just to be certain, licked her other cheek. "Ten-x powdered, I'd say."

"Oh, they're thick!" Rose exclaimed. She laughed out loud, a triumphant sound that warmed him all the way down to his toes.

He set her carefully on her feet, keeping his body between her and the guard just to be on the safe side. The joy was giving way to anger. "You could have seriously hurt her!" he bellowed, while the green and purple night guard cowered. "If you don't know enough about human physiology that you make that kind of mistake, you could have killed her. You could have killed all of us, even me with your experimenting."

"Oh, god," Rose muttered. "Powdered aspirin."

"Exactly," the Doctor said. "Or potassium cyanide just as easily. This will never happen again," he told the guard, and watched in satisfaction while the creature half-hopped, half-scampered off.

He looked down at Rose, dusting powder from her hair. "Come on, let's get this stuff off." He took her arm and led her toward the limited privacy of the little curtained off loo area.

It was only when Rose spoke his name that the Doctor realized he actually had his fingers tangled in her shirt buttons. "Sorry," he said sheepishy. He had plans and plans of plans going in his head, the usual tick sheet with the order of operations for this newest disaster taking most of his attention. What was left of it, all of it, was concentrating on making sure Rose was safe, Rose was fine and healthy and with him.

She looked up at him, standing too close - his fault, he knew that - her eyes huge and dark in the limited light. He'd licked her twice just now and once earlier. She tasted good, he might ought... her face was close, her head tilted just so, warm air brushing over his chin with every too rapid breath she took. He swallowed hard. "Rose?" Her name fell from his lips, a nervous whimper.

She shook herself suddenly and stepped back. "Never do that again," she said, her voice cross and maybe a little more breathy than normal. "You could have died. What if it_ had_ been aspirin? Or cyanide?"

"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "I was... I was thinking about you, I didn't even..."

"Don't die again," she pleaded, so softly. "I like this you, ok?"

"You do?" he asked, struck still by the wonder of that revelation. Well, it wasn't a complete revelation. Cassandra had claimed it, but then she enjoyed making mischief.

"Of course I do," she answered. "Don't be silly. You're you, whatever you look like. My Doctor."

He had thought the lump in his throat couldn't get any more pronounced. Surprise, but then Rose often surprised him. He should say something, something very important needed to be said, right this minute. Now. No, honestly, right now.

He was the Doctor, and he couldn't talk.

Rose wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. He didn't hesitate to return the hug, trying to let his arms and his body tell her everything that was in his head and his hearts. But Time Lords weren't designed for that type of speech. That was a human prerogative, non-verbal communication on the kind of level he would need to convey the whole truth to Rose. Not that he couldn't use it, but he wasn't sure he'd get it right.

He had words, oh so many, specific, beautiful words. They chimed and jangled and got tangled on his lips every time he wanted to say them. Other things came out instead - "I'm so glad I met you", "Rose, I'm coming to get you", "I think you need a Doctor". More recently, it had been so confused, the words getting caught up in the very basic fear of losing her. So things that came out came more carefully still. "Am I still the Doctor, then?", "I'd love for you to come", "Give her back to me".

He opened his mouth and, at long last, the delicate, sparkling syllables tumbled forth, so exact, so precise, so appropriate. So necessary.

"What was that?" Rose whispered.

"My native language," he said, because he was, apparently, still a coward, every time.

"It's beautiful. What does it mean?"

"It's a bit tricky to translate," he replied, which was sort of true. He scratched at the back of his neck. He shook his head and the plans and problems all tumbled back into it. "You get cleaned up. I'll go next, all right?"

She nodded and stepped across the little alcove, making a face at her reflection in the mirror. The Doctor watched her, his hearts still clenched, and wondered how he was meant to learn to live with this one.

Then, he turned and strode purposefully back into the rest of the cell. Mickey was leaning against the bars, waiting for him. The Doctor grinned. Looked like "Mickey the Idiot" was history.

"All right," he said, leaning close and speaking just above a whisper, "here's the plan."

* * *

Behind them, the Circus Dyphus was burning. Reinette ran, rather surprised to learn that she could move this fast if provoked. Mickey had her hand held tight in his, glancing down at her, occasionally, in wonder and admiration. She rather thought she was a bit old to fall in love again, but he made it so easy, with his soft, dark smiles and his protective gaze. His body didn't hurt, either, it was so beautiful. She smirked at him. Running for your life was an aphrodisiac.

He'd been brilliant. She'd been brilliant. They'd all, the Doctor said, been brilliant. Just yesterday, Reinette had been wondering how she would ever fit into this life of theirs, and today, she'd helped save them and all future prisoners with a precisely gauged and timed temper tantrum.

It was wonderfully simple. Distract the guards, not with charm or seduction, but with putting them off of even wanting to get near her. Their reverence for Mickey helped as she clung to him and complained that they were mistreating her and he arranged to get thunderously angry. Then, Rose came out to protect her while Mickey made a spectacle of himself, making a speech easily equal to the Doctor's blistering discourse. Finally the Doctor had come charging up, announced he was about to do a disappearing act and that everyone had better run. Then, the tent shook and the scanners that these people used to tell if their performers were really trying had started to smoke.

It was all a blur after that, and an outrageous amount of running. Rose and the Doctor were behind them - she had insisted on making sure every last guard and bystander got out of the way before she would leave. The Doctor apparently agreed with her, even carrying the one he was furious with to safety before they all charged out through the streets.

Reinette laughed. She was having the time of her life. She'd never considered that there was so much fun to be had simply in exerting the body to do more than it usually could. But then, she'd never had the physical freedom to move like this before.

They rounded a corner and charged up the hill toward the Doctor's ship. Rose, behind her, was singing and the Doctor was laughing along and changing her lyrics. They reached the safety of the ship and she caught sight of the younger girl's face.

"I've made up my mind, Rose," the Doctor said, turning the key and flinging open the doors. "You want to take Reinette shopping for frilly knickers, let's go somewhere sorta safer. Powell Estate?"

Mickey laughed as they followed the Doctor inside. "That's not safer, mate, you'll have to fight off your mother-in-law."

"Good point," the Doctor agreed, closing the doors behind them. "Tell you what, I'll send you in first as the sacrificial lamb."

"That's just wrong," Mickey complained cheerfully.

"I'll tell you what's wrong," the Doctor said, working the console of his marvelous machine. "First time I ever showed up, she hit on me. Second time, she hit me. If that's a pattern, I think I'm back to 'hit me', aren't I?"

Reinette watched Rose as they exchanged their cheerful banter. She looked fond and nervous and confused all at once. "He didn't object, I noticed," she said as she sidled up to Rose.

"Yeah," Rose agreed, "sorta noticed that myself."

"I understand now, you know. It's not just that you love him. You love... this, all this." She gestured vaguely around them, then frowned. "Is what Mickey told me true, why your relationship remains as it does?"

Rose giggled mischievously. "Well, I wouldn't know, would I?" she asked playfully.

Reinette laughed along with her. "We shall simply have to find a way for you to find out."

The two girls eventually noticed that the console room was silent. They looked up to find the Doctor and Mickey staring at them, expressions of confusion and worry on their faces.

"What?" said Mickey.

Rose eyed him in a distinctly predatory manner. Reinette chortled and did the same to the Doctor. Then they glanced at each other and grinned.

"What is it?" the Doctor said. "Seriously?"

The two women glanced at the men again, playful, predatory smirks on both their faces. Then they looked at each other and kept laughing.

"Not this again," the Doctor moaned.


	8. Chapter 8

**As I am a professional writer and have work to do to get paid, I have decided to deal with these thudding plot bunnies in the traditional manner - I will inflict them on others. Please see my Profile for the Challenges of the Month. June Challenges will be available as of June 3rd, but feel free to tackle May's if you'd rather. The new set will run through the end of June. Please let me know when you respond to a Challenge so I can read and review.**

A/N: This chapter is dedicated with affectionate ribbing to _montypython203_. Told you it wouldn't explode. Much. And everyone say thanks to _Olfactory Ventriloquism_, who got grilled again in order to inspire this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 8:**

The Doctor leaned up against the counter, the open jar of marmalade concealed neatly behind his back, and watched Rose as she flitted around the kitchen looking for something. Really wanted to finish that marmalade, he thought. "Why aren't you watching telly with everyone else?" he asked.

"Because I want to make some tea," she replied. "What are you doing?"

"Hiding from the domesticity before it kills bits of my soul, assuming I have one. They're watching East Enders, Rose. _Madame de Pompadour_ is watching East Enders."

Rose laughed. "You travel all through space and time, Doctor, surely that isn't the most incredible thing you've ever seen?"

"I dunno," he said, tugging at his ear, "it's right up there with the Raxacoricofallatorian strippers, anyway."

Rose made a face. "Yeah, didn't want to know that," she said. Then she looked at him, suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"Leaning on the counter," he answered.

"I can see that."

"I like leaning on the counter."

"It's gonna fall over if you stop, is that it?"

"The whole wall might fall down," he answered with dramatic dignity. "And then we'd have to watch Jackie sitting there trying to pretend she knows who Reinette is. That's a tragedy, Rose, and it's got to be averted."

Rose laughed. So far, her mother had guessed that Reinette was Catherine the Great, Marie-Antoinette, Lady Jane Grey, and Mary, Queen of Scots. Jackie had, apparently, never really paid attention in history. Rose, at least, knew the title 'Madame de Pompadour'.

She said it aloud, as if it suddenly occurred to her how very strange it really was. "My friend, Mickey Smith, is dating Madame de Pompadour."

"Dating isn't the word I'd use," the Doctor replied and smirked at her.

"Nah, he just went to collect his last pay packet. Says he's going to take her out."

"Domestics," the Doctor snorted, and rolled his eyes because he rather thought that came out with a bit of a Manchester accent. "We'll go somewhere proper while they're out having beer and watching the game at the pub."

"She'll probably enjoy it, actually," Rose said, leaning on the counter next to him. "Next thing you know, she'll be complaining about West Ham and arguing the off-sides rule with the rest of them." Rose smiled sweetly and leaned on him. "I figure if Margaret the Slitheen can go defensive about Wales, then Madame de Pompadour can take up watching football."

Her arm went around him and the Doctor smiled down at her, thinking that if Madame de Pompadour could take up watching football, then Rose Tyler, former shop girl, could be wined and dined like a princess. Then, she jumped away from him, the marmalade bottle clenched in her fist.

"Knew you were hiding something," she said, waving the bottle at him with that cheeky grin on her face.

"I don't know anything about it," he denied.

"Uh, huh," she said. "S'why it's half empty." She stuck her finger in the bottle, pulled out a bit, and then stuck it in her mouth.

The Doctor shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and continued to lean. Rose just looked at him, her eyes never leaving his, and continued to eat his marmalade. It was his, too, he'd stolen it fair and square.

Rather like Rose, herself, actually.

"Want some?" she asked, and offered the bottle over. He reached for it. She pulled it away.

His eyes narrowed.

"You already had half the bottle," she said. "And without even using a spoon."

"Who needs spoons?" he asked. His voice had gone funny on him, but that was fine. Rose didn't seem to mind, she just gave him that saucy look and stuck another finger full of marmalade into her mouth.

Someone might have squeaked about that, but it wasn't him. Time Lords didn't make noises like that.

Rose came a little closer. "This is pretty good," she said softly.

He reached for her. She moved away.

Next thing the Doctor knew, he was chasing Rose Tyler around her mum's kitchen while she giggled and ducked away every single time he almost caught her. He didn't even know if he was after the marmalade any more or the girl running off with it.

Or the girl, covered in marmalade. That sounded promising.

Not going there.

But...

No, really not.

She darted around the table and he feinted to the left. He cheated, let time blur just a little, while she tried to change direction and then ran right into his arms. "Gotcha," he said, a little breathless from... well, something.

"You cheated," she accused.

"Time Lord," he answered. He should have sounded smug, but he was rather more concerned with watching her as she yet again sank a marmalade covered digit between her soft pink lips. "That's mine," he said softly.

"What's yours?" she asked.

Good point, he thought. The marmalade was his, he'd stolen it. The girl was his, he'd stolen her. That made the fingers his, too, because he'd stolen the girl they were attached to and the marmalade they were covered in. Maybe made her lips his, too.

Actually, her lips probably made him hers, since he'd died of them and been reborn in this body for them.

"Doctor?" she whispered. She wasn't trying to get away from him. She sounded breathless, but it wasn't from fear or dislike. She looked up and their eyes locked. She shivered from whatever she saw there, but still didn't pull away. In fact, she leaned closer.

Yes, definitely closer. He could smell citrus on her lips and the rest was moonlight and the cool rain on the leading edge of a summer storm. If he leaned just a little, he could finally find out if she tasted like she smelled. He'd kissed her once, but she'd been steeped in Vortex. She'd kissed him once but there'd been so much wrong with that - he'd actually tasted that something was wrong, more than something was right.

Her eyes batted closed. He inhaled deeply, savoring this moment, because it was going to be the last of its kind. Every moment after this would be a moment after the anticipation was at last put aside. They would be glorious, nervous, wonderful moments, but there'd never be another like this. He let his eyes close, lowered his head.

The kitchen door slammed open behind them.

Because the Universe hated him, exactly as he'd always suspected it did.

Rose jumped back from him, shooting him a guilty, nervous glance, then turned to find her mother glaring accusingly at them. "That doesn't look like making tea to me," she said, and bustled past them over to the sink to start filling the kettle at the tap. She turned her back on the pair of them. The Doctor was staring at his shoes and wondering if the curse of the Time Lords was actually agelessness or if it had more to do with really crap timing.

Rose handed him the marmalade bottle and he put the lid on it slowly, thinking he might just go back to the TARDIS and hide in a corner until the sudden urge to scream had passed. She shot him another nervous, apologetic glance as he set the marmalade on the table behind him. It had lost its appeal completely, unlike Rose, but he couldn't do a thing about that now.

"Don't mind me," Jackie continued brusquely. "You just carry on with what you were doing."

But they couldn't. The moment, that precious, beautiful, one-of-a-kind moment, had been utterly destroyed.

* * *

The Doctor was drinking, which Mickey thought was rather interesting, as he'd never known anyone who really fit the expression "Drunk as a Lord" before. Rose had given up trying to get him to make sense about three manhattans and a tequila sunrise ago and was now contemplating the color of her nail polish as compared to various objects on and around the table.

"You humans," the Doctor proclaimed grandly to the waitress who'd brought him a sex on a beach. "You're all brilliant. Such fantastic names for your alcohol. Could just name it 'fruity and expensive', but no. You come up with an exciting and appealing name for it and the drink frankly tastes nothing like that. Does it, Rose?" He sloshed his drink a bit, and passed it to her.

She sipped at it. "Dunno," she said. "I've never had sex on a beach, before."

"Huh, really?" She shook her head. He scratched the back of his neck. "Huh, me neither. Do you think Jack has?"

Mickey shifted in his seat, wishing he was on another planet. Without them.

"Do you think Jack hasn't?" she countered. "Get me a screwdriver," she added to the waitress. "And make it sonic!" She giggled and fell off her chair.

Definitely should have kept them both out of the alcohol. Or at least one of them.

The waitress was still staring at them. The Doctor looked up, blinking slowly and wobbling a bit. This wasn't merely the effect of the fancy cocktails he and Rose had been playing with since they reached the pub. The Doctor had started with something he'd found in the TARDIS that he told them - haltingly - was too strong for 21st or 18th century human consumption. He'd apparently been at it awhile, too, because he'd done a runner some hours back while Jackie was making tea. When he turned back up, he'd been singing.

Rose hadn't cared, much, as she'd been in Jackie's liquor cabinet with her tea.

Mickey glanced at Reinette. Something had gone very very wrong, somewhere. Reinette shrugged, sipped daintily at her wine, and then glanced up to swear in vicious French at the ref on the telly. Mickey's head shot up and he started shouting, too.

"See," said Rose, as she picked herself up. "Told ya."

"Yup," agreed the Doctor. He seemed to be trying to give her a hand, but he was a bit in danger of landing on the floor with her. He hiccuped and peered blearily at the waitress. "Can I help you? You don't need rescuing do you? Not an alien or something, I hope? Only, it's my first night off in like three decades."

The waitress blinked. "So a screwdriver then?" she said as if she'd decided they were drunk instead of mad.

"Oooh," the Doctor exclaimed enthusiastically, causing the waitress to wince and the occupants of the four nearest tables to turn to look at them. "Can we get it sonic? Humans are so clever," he added, and tapped Rose on the nose.

"Watch it," she said. "It might be loaded."

He looked at his finger as if seeing it for the first time. "You think so?" he asked, as if this were a perfectly logical and likely possibility.

"Well, it's on your magic hand, innit, so why not?"

"When you say humans," the waitress interrupted, looking at them all with the same sort of horrified fascination people used on train wrecks, "that sort of implies that you're not."

The Doctor folded his arms over his chest and pouted. He looked like a petulant child, to Mickey. "Well, it's not like they gave me any choice, you know. I mean, I said, 'I'd like a nice, normal, quiet life with not too much trouble or anything. And if you don't mind, could I be ginger?' And they laughed at me - Rose, it was awful, they laughed, right?"

"I'm sure they did," she said sympathetically and swayed drunkenly into his side to cuddle up to him.

"And then they made me me and that's cruel. I talk too much and I'm _not_ ginger, and this is about the quietest my life ever gets and there'll never be taxies or street corners at two a.m. and I'm really depressing myself now." He drained his fruity drink in one quick, too long gulp. "Better bring me a sonic screwdriver, too."

The waitress apparently decided that if they needed sectioning it wasn't her problem. "We have regular screwdrivers," she said.

"That's fine," Rose agreed. "Bring us two and he can make 'em sonic. If he gets bored."

"Or there's cabinets," the Doctor agreed.

"You are both making a terrible spectacle of yourselves," Reinette accused as the waitress wandered off.

"Yep, that's me," the Doctor said, "A spectacled spectacle." He pointed at his glasses. They were on Rose's head. "That's mine," he said firmly. "Keep almost losing 'em, though."

"He's not talking about the glasses," Mickey pointed out, because he and Reinette both knew that and Rose was too drunk to care. He hadn't seen her like this since the night after Shireen's party at her step-father's hotel. Whatever had happened - and Rose had never told a living soul - she'd come home and gotten so pissed she couldn't walk.

It was six months before she'd met the Doctor, so Mickey couldn't blame him for that one. But this one was definitely his fault.

"So you like it, yeah, Reinette?" Rose asked, swaying back and forth, bouncing off the Doctor's shoulder every time she collided with it. "S'not too weird for you?"

"The shops were amazing," Reinette said, with that look that girls get when talking about spending money. "And this box with sights is fascinating."

"See, you're just Mickey's girl. Like his dream girl. He spent like two years tryin' to 'splain football to me and I still don't get it."

"S'not your thing," the Doctor said.

"I'm making a list," she agreed. "No cats, no pretty boys from 2012..." And they were off again, talking in a drunken variation of Doctor/Rose code that, while not explicitly designed to keep other people out, made it very hard to understand them most of the time.

"She's right, you know," Mickey said, leaning close to Reinette so she could hear him over the din of the rowdy pub around them. "You are my dream girl, and not just because you're pretty and famous." He sighed and shook his head. "You can do a lot better than me, Reinette, even here and now."

Reinette smiled and cupped his face in her hand. "What you need to understand, Mickey, is that there are many definitions of the word 'better'. Many people, regardless of their age, make the mistake of assuming that a higher station in life automatically equates to a better life. I've had both, and now this, and I assure you, it does not. Truly having a 'better' life, being a 'better' person, comes from having the life that gives you the most joy, that makes you feel you are doing what you should with your life. Whether that is ruling a nation or loving a person, your definition of better should come from within you, not from the world around you."

Mickey smiled and nodded. "That's like what Rose said, when she went back for him."

Reinette stared at him and Mickey took her hand carefully. He knew she was upset that he'd suddenly brought Rose into the conversation, so he lowered his head close to her ear and spoke just above a whisper. "I'm sorry to ruin our moment," he said, "but it had to be done. Thank you."

Reinette looked up carefully, those clever, court-trained eyes seeing without seeming to even glance that way, what Mickey had realized as soon as Reinette's brilliant words had penetrated at least one drunken haze on the other side of the table. The Doctor was staring down at Rose where she leaned against him, dreamy and very nearly passed out. The expression on his face was profound and absolutely defied description.

Reinette smiled again, at last, and entwined her arms around Mickey's neck. "You are the most generous, selfless, caring man I have ever met, Mickey Smith. This is why I could do no better than you, no matter what treasures I was offered in your stead. And I will love you, as long as you will have me."

Mickey felt like standing up and announcing it to the pub and, in fact, the whole world. But his selfish, grandstanding side had died out a long time back, even if it had tried to make appearances from time to time where Rose was concerned. He wrapped his arms around the pretty French woman who had changed his life forever and brought his mouth close to her ear. "I love you, too, Reinette," he said.


	9. Chapter 9

**As I am a professional writer and have work to do to get paid, I have decided to deal with these thudding plot bunnies in the traditional manner - I will inflict them on others. Please see my Profile for the Challenges of the Month. July Challenges are now available, and what a twist for one of them. If you'd rather do June's, instead, I'd love to hear from you. Thanks to all those who have participated thus far - we had an exceptional turn out for June II for example. The new challenges will run through the end of July. Please let me know when you respond to a Challenge so I can read and review.**

* * *

**Chapter 9:**

Dragging the drunken pair back to Jackie's flat was an adventure. The Doctor kept stopping to chase 'aliens' - the local strays, mostly. Rose had got hold of his sonic screwdriver and was using it as a torch, except she kept turning it on and off and claiming she was doing Morse code.

Mickey had already handed in the keys to his flat this morning - he figured if he did come back here, he'd go somewhere else and do something else because Rose was right, you didn't go back to normal after seeing what was out there. He decided that he'd take Reinette back to the TARDIS for the night, since she really shouldn't have to camp out on Jackie's sofa, no matter how well she'd managed to fit into twenty-first century life.

Jackie was flabbergasted when she opened the door. The Doctor was leaning against the guardrail, singing something that sounded like a Dylan song as sung by a Scottish Garth Brooks. Rose was leaning heavily on Reinette and occasionally correcting the Doctor's lyrics in a slurring voice no one, not even the Doctor, seemed to understand.

"You ain't seen nothing like me yet," the Doctor caroled and dropped a quick kiss on Jackie's forehead. "All Hail Jackie Tyler, she who slaps with the mighty slapping arm of power."

"You're never gonna let that go, are you?" Jackie asked him.

"Nope," he said. "'Specially not if you don't hold still. Can't tell which of you is gonna hit me, this time."

"Yep, he's gone," Jackie said. "Just chuck him there on the sofa."

"He's tootall," Rose slurred. "Iseep onna sofer."

"No, no, no, no. You, bed," the Doctor said and gestured at her bedroom door.

"Yessir," she agreed, stumbled through the door. There, she sat on the edge of the bed, calmly wriggling out of her jeans, regardless of her audience.

"Pretty," the Doctor said. He looked a bit more dazed than he had a minute ago, but that might be the light. Mickey had to concede that what Rose was doing was interesting to him, but the Doctor didn't get it, Mickey knew that. Reinette's hand came up and covered his eyes. Mostly.

"Shut it," Rose countered, but did absolutely nothing about the fact that she was showing her TARDIS blue knickers to the world.

"Get out of that doorway before I _do_ slap you," Jackie ordered him. "Rose, put on a nightgown or something."

"Ya vol, herr mum," she muttered and saluted. At least that's what Mickey assumed she was doing. She may have been trying to scratch her nose.

He turned away as her shirt came off over her head. "We gotta put him somewhere. I'm not lugging him back down the stairs."

"I can walk," the Doctor complained. "Nine hundred years old, I can run and sing and dance and... huh." He scratched the back of his neck. "That's about it."

"Yeah," agreed Jackie, "'cuz you sure as hell can't shut up."

"I can too," he protested indignantly. "See, this is me, shutting up. Do it all the time, you know. Shut up, I mean. Just 'cuz you're never there to see it doesn't mean I don't know how to shut up. I've been quiet for days at a time, Jackie Tyler, so quiet even the TARDIS thinks I'm quiet and that's saying something. I don't always have to talk, I know how to shut up and when to shut up, like now, because you're thinking about killing me, but that's ok, because it's just a figure of speech, looks can't really kill. Or I'd've died that first time I showed up here, I bet. Whoo, now that was a killing look. Still, I can shut up, Jackie. It's not like I'm..."

"You need to sleep it off, mate," Mickey interrupted. "I mean, seriously. This is worse than the party at Versailles."

"Oh, right. Should go say I'm sorry for that," said the Doctor. He stumbled over and opened Rose's door. "I'm... gonna go check on her," he said.

"Oh, no you don't," Jackie insisted.

"Give over, Jackie," the Doctor protested, sounding pretty reasonable, actually. "Your daughter lives on my ship." He rolled his eyes, entered the room, and closed the door behind him.

Jackie glowered thunderously at Mickey. "What?" Mickey asked. "He's like asexual or something. Besides, if he was gonna get her drunk and molest her..." Mickey trailed off at the murderous look in the woman's eyes and opened the door again, prepared to rescue the Doctor from Jackie by acting all protective of Rose.

There was no point. The Time Lord had apparently not gotten far with his checking on Rose plan. She was lying curled up on her duvet and she seemed to be wearing a very familiar green jumper. The Doctor, still fully clothed, had curled up around her and draped his coat over the pair of them. They were both, obviously, dead to the world.

Jackie shook her head and tutted. "Fine, do what you want to do," she muttered at the sleeping couple. She pulled the door to and leaned on it. "You're going to anyway."

* * *

Rose still felt a little drunk when she woke abruptly. She checked the clock by her bedside - it was three am. It took her a few minutes to detach herself from the Doctor's embrace. He whimpered and complained in some language that was either too rude for the TARDIS to translate or too broken to be understood no matter what. She patted his hand. "Be right back," she said.

"K," he agreed, and snuggled back down into the covers.

She staggered to the loo, took care of the immediate problem, and then went to the medicine cabinet. She downed two paracetamol with three large glasses of water and, because she thought her mouth tasted like the floor of the pub, brushed her teeth. Then she ran a comb through her hair and washed her face clean of flaking mascara and god knows what else.

She was in the middle of reaching for her lip gloss when she shook herself abruptly. It was just the Doctor. He'd seen her covered in goo, sobbing like a baby, and sick as a pig. She'd gotten snot and vomit and cheese toast on his leather jacket and more snot, tea, and powdered sugar on his suit. She suspected, in 1987, that he'd actually changed her nappy once, but didn't like to ask.

Meanwhile, she'd seen him crying like his heart was broken, panicking because he didn't know what to do, possessed by a bitchy trampoline, and transfixed to within an inch of his life by a werewolf. She'd seen him drunk at least twice before, seen him in nothing but his boxers and a smile, seen him overtaken by rage so deep that a single drop of it could detonate entire solar systems. She loved him all the same.

She sighed. He could just do her the same courtesy this time, too.

"Where were you?" he demanded, the instant she opened her bedroom door. "Why were you gone so long?"

He looked tipsy and ruffled and, god his hair was wonderful, and he'd apparently taken her absence as an opportunity to kit off to his boxers and undershirt. She could just go over there and sit down on his lap, run her fingers through his hair, nibble at his ear... "Must not shag the drunken Time Lord," she thought.

"Why not?" the Doctor said.

OK, great. She'd either said that aloud or he'd read her mind and she wasn't sure which was worse. "Not gonna justify that with an answer," she said.

He pouted. "C'mon then, back to bed. Your head's gonna ache in the morning."

"Took precautions," she said and pulled up the duvet to join him under the covers this time. "But I definitely don't want to be you, tomorrow."

He chuckled and pulled her close. "No one ever wants to be me, not even me." He snuggled down next to her and buried his nose in her hair. "'Cept right now. And I wouldn't trade with anybody for the Universe."

If she had ever doubted, ever, how very much he loved her, he'd just cleared that up permanently.

Sleep came too easily, all the same. Tomorrow morning would be another day. They would wake together, probably to her mum shrieking at them. They'd take turns in the shower and she'd be thinking about him, naked and dripping, the whole time. The first time that had occurred - while she was getting changed for Christmas in what turned out to be Cardiff - it had taken her by surprise. Now she was used to it. They'd go down into the street and something would probably happen - he'd get a distress call or aliens would invade or someone would be accidentally blowing up the planet.

They'd run, together, hand in hand, their endless dance around the profound truth of their relationship, which was...

Rose slept.

The Doctor, however, quickly assimilated all the alcohol into his system and lay there to watch over her sleep.

* * *

"What're you doin' out here then?" Jackie asked when she wandered blearily through the living room the next morning. The Doctor beamed proudly at her. "I fixed your tele," he said.

"Well, I don't wanna get BBC Mars from the Year 5000, so put it back like it was," she said indignantly.

He laughed. "I just fixed that annoying static thing, that's all. Besides, they don't have BBC on Mars in 5000. Took them at least another six years."

She rolled her eyes. "Tea?" she asked, going into the kitchen.

"Kettle's hot," he answered. "I'll fix breakfast when everyone's up, if you want."

She reappeared through the doorway to gape at him in bald astonishment. "You can cook?" she demanded, as if he'd claimed he could dance the hula on the head of a pin.

The Doctor couldn't help it, he laughed at her. "I've been wandering the Universe for nine centuries, Jackie, and I've lived on my own for half that time. What did you think I did? Ate out of tins?"

She snorted. "Well, how the hell would I guess that?" she asked. "You're a bloody alien, you could only eat twigs and black pepper for all I know." She eyed him thoughtfully. "Certainly looks like it."

"I ate your Christmas dinner. I even liked it."

"Well, you're welcome, I guess," she said, crossly, "if that was a thank you."

Sometimes, every once in awhile, he had the nearly uncontrollable urge to hug the woman, if only because it would leave her sputtering and confused. So, he gave in to the impulse, this time, bouncing up from the sofa and leaning over her to catch her completely off guard. The result was exactly as he imagined it would be - her eyes bugged and her cheeks blushed and she looked, genuinely, thunderstruck. Oncoming Hugging Storm, he thought, and stifled the urge to giggle.

Rose wandered in right about then, and looked at them both in surprise. "Hi," she said, and shoved her messy hair out of her face. The Doctor smiled at her. Without her war paint and her 'face the world' masks, she was even more lovely than ever but, he thought smugly, he was one of very few people who ever got to see it.

"Your boyfriend here is claiming he can cook," Jackie said, hands on her hips, all indignant.

The Doctor fought off the blush and waited with bated breath. Rose shrugged. "Yeah, he's pretty good. Just don't let 'im near the toaster. There's no excuse for the way he'll behave."

* * *

Reinette looked decidedly cross as she and Mickey entered the flat just in time. In her honor, the Doctor had made French toast, which wasn't really toast, or French, but got rid of eggs and bread pretty conveniently.

Rose always ate hers with powdered sugar, but he'd be willing to bet she'd gone off that for awhile. He dug through the cupboards and set out brown sugar and the whatever it was that was labeled syrup but probably wasn't, not really. "We're going to Vermont, next," he proclaimed boldly.

"Fine with me," agreed Rose.

Reinette flung herself in her chair and looked even worse than she had. "This is simply intolerable. Honestly, Rose, how do you stand it?"

"Stand what?" Rose asked.

Reinette flipped her tangled curls over her shoulder and glowered at them. "All this hair. It's little wonder women in your time cut it all off."

Jackie's eyes lit up. The Doctor stepped back from her. Happy Jackie was probably a bad thing. Her fingers twitched. He sighed. "Eat, first, yeah?"

"All right," Jackie agreed. "Then, we'll see what you want done with it, dear."

"Pardon?" Reinette said.

"I forgot," Mickey said. "Jackie does hair; she's pretty good, too."

Jackie smacked him round the head, which might have been a good thing, because it looked like sweet, gentle Reinette was contemplating it herself. "My mum's going to be stylist to Madame de Pompadour," Rose said, grinning.

The Doctor laughed and lowered himself into the chair next to her. "Funny old world," he said, cheerfully.

"Always is with you," she agreed, and leaned into his shoulder.

It occurred to him, at some point during the meal, that he was happier than he could remember being in a very long time. Two hours later, while he and Rose stood there commentating on Jackie's every suggestion for Reinette's new look, he realized he was also more domestic than he could remember being.

And it wasn't so bad, after all.


End file.
